


Dances & Songs of late Hornburg

by PTWL



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Dancing and Singing, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Minor Violence, Multi, Non-Explicit Sex, posted in non particular order, songfics kind of?, tags in each chapter because I don't want this to keep going forever
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-07-15 23:26:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 56,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16073591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PTWL/pseuds/PTWL
Summary: Collection of mostly "short" stories concerning these two and/or traditions of Hornburg.





	1. In the morning air I'll leave you

**Author's Note:**

> I came up with a hc a while a go and now I can't help but think that Erhardt knows how to play the lute. Things escalated from there.
> 
> Chapter related:  
> "They will have to march once more early in the morning. Luckily for them, the morning hasn't come yet."  
> Song: The Bannered Mare (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2XtvRB1mMWo)  
> Tags: pre-game, implied sexual content, nudity, fluff.

He wakes up to the soft and familiar sound of a lute being tuned. He shifts in the too-small bed, his legs pulled close to his chest. He considers going back to sleep, but unsure of the hour as he is, he knows they’ll have to go back with their commanding officer at the break of the day. Still with his eyes closed, Olberic stretches his back and hears his shoulders crack. Erhardt chuckles quietly by his side, barely a whisper below the peaceful lute.

“You are going to wake up our neighbors.” Olberic yawns as he tries to sit down, cracking his eyes open and resting his forehead on Erhardt’s shoulder. “Why are you wearing my shirt?” He closes his eyes and tries to focus on anything else but the stinging pain of the scratches, bites and dark marks from his neck down. It’s embarrassing.

“I got cold.” He answers shortly and begins playing a light melody, still half-asleep.

Olberic frowns and looks at his fingers. “Liar.” He finally sits like a normal person and takes the plain black ribbon from his bedside table to braid Erhardt’s hair without disturbing him. He brushes his hair carefully with his fingers and splits it. He doesn’t complain even once and keeps playing, fingers moving even if he looks like he’s having a peaceful nap.

Sunrise hasn’t come yet when Olberic finishes and stops Erhardt’s trance to recover his shirt, blond hair sticking everywhere. That leaves him only covering himself with his lute. Olberic gets dressed quickly even if he is not in a hurry.

“You’re no fun at all.” He hums and Olberic notices how the rhythm has been slowed down considerably.

“I’ll be back soon. Going to get us some breakfast.” He kneels down, looking for his boots. Then, he feels hands on his head and fingers running down his hair, combing it back.

“You have a reputation. The Unbending Blade of Hornburg can’t just walk out of any inn with morning hair.”

And there, cheek resting on Erhardt’s knee, Olberic would have sworn he heard some kind of longing in his partner’s voice.


	2. Wishes of a Distant Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riding on their warmare, marching with the troops throught valleys and flocks of sheep, Olberic enjoys telling Erhardt about his plans for a distant future. It rips Erhardt's heart out knowing such future will never come but he lets himself get lost in those visions for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Shepherd's Flute (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z-dD1gZI03g)  
> Tags: pregame, daydreaming, angst, plans for the future, kind of proposal? (how do I even tag?)

They ride on horseback through deep valleys between the mountains, flocks of sheep and their shepherds not so far away from the march column. They are far back, isolated from the rest of the army, far from prying ears, riding their heavy warmare. She was a dappled gray mare called Nadette; strong enough to carry them both and all their baggage.

Olberic is riding at the front, cheerfully talking. Erhardt sits at the back, lute in hand as he plays a tune of the lands they cross. The song is more fitted for a flute, but he enjoys the ring of it. A few peasants stare at them from the distance and Erhardt can’t help but laugh when he sees a couple of tiny black lambs climbing atop their mother and jumping from her back. He hears Olberic chuckling at him and gives him a light nudge.

Olberic loves making plans, talking about what will come next. At times, Erhardt will tease him and tell him he daydreams like a maiden. He can’t blame him though. Who wouldn’t daydream in a place like this?

“Erhardt, I must ask you something of great importance.” He manages to sound grave and lighthearted at the same time. Erhardt hums as he plays. “Once the war is over,” He coughs and clears his voice. “would you like to travel by my side?”

It may look just like any other brotherly proposal for anyone else but Erhardt know his true intent and it shatters his hearts in pieces. He wants to, he’d never wanted anything more in his whole life, but he will fulfill his mission. If both of them live after that, it will crush them. So he lies.

“I’d love to.” His hands are shaky and he’s so lucky Olberic can’t look at him right now or he’ll break. “Where shall we go?” He should get rid of Olberic, probably the only person who could ruin their scheme, but it feels too painful to even imagine doing so.

Olberic frowns and takes a while to answer. “Maybe we could travel the whole of Osterra. Go even farther if you want to.” He states cheerfully. A man like him shouldn’t be capable of such innocence.

Erhardt isn’t stupid, he knows Olberic wouldn’t skip a beat and end him right where he stands if he knew. Only one of them will remain. “I could play at every inn to earn some spare leaves.” They would walk the land as wandering knights.

Olberic laughs and bites his lower lip. “I can’t wait.” He enjoys being a knight of Hornburg but the freedom they speak of is too tempting. He stays quiet some more, listening to Erhardt’s lute and the howling wind of the valley. “And once we grow older, once we can’t roam the land anymore, would you stay by my side?” Erhardt looks up to his nape, surprised. “Maybe up to the mountains, close to a frontier post but far enough from the village.” Olberic keeps his voice calm and even but Erhardt can tell he’s tense, restless. “We’d need a warhorse to carry us both up the rocky paths.”

Erhardt doesn’t know how his life would like be in five years. He can’t even picture himself alive in ten years time. How could he even imagine them both in such a distant future? Olberic hair graying with age and crow’s feet at his eyes. His own back not as trustworthy as it used to be, hands full of wrinkles and tan from the sun.

He thinks of a peaceful cabin, valleys below them and the quiet of the mountains. He thinks of waking up at noon and eating boards of cheese and fresh fruit, plums and peaches and blackberries while in bed. He thinks of them both bathing together in a tiny bathtub, laying atop of Olberic while he trims his hair as he often does. He thinks of riding down the path to a village, while Olberic cooks for them both at home, to check on the border beside the soldiers; of Olberic and him teaching them how to wield their blades. Of heavy blankets and Olberic dozing off by his side late at night on their bed. The more he daydreams about it, he better he knows such things will never happen.

He bites his tongue to avoid sobbing pitifully. His whole throat burns and he hasn’t said a word in a long while.

“Erhardt? Are you fine?” He asks worriedly, eyes still fixed to the road. Erhardt realizes he hasn’t been playing for a while as well. “I knew I shouldn’t have said this… I’m sorry. Just forget it.” There’s a tinge of pain and shame in his voice and Erhardt knows he’ll give him so much more.

He finally brings himself to speak, voice hoarse and too brittle. “Olberic. We are twenty-five. There is plenty of time left to make plans.” He gulps quietly. “Let’s make them once the time comes and stick to enjoying the present for now.”

Olberic hums in agreement. “Hold onto me, we’re going to pick up speed.” Erhardt settles his lute behind him and holds onto Olberic, cheek resting on his back as he feels the wind around them, Nadette neighs and Olberic laughs once more.

He sticks to enjoying the present but can’t get out of his head the rustic pictures of a future he’ll burn away before it comes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to @wintershiny on tumblr for making this possible!


	3. Distraction Tactics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They hadn't a chance. As soon as Tressa heard there was a fair in the village they were passing through, they all knew they were stuck there. Primrose has told him they don't have enough money to buy anything at all so it's Olberic's job to distract Tressa from the stands. Guess he'll have to come up with a plan and quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Bring it on Home (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pJ1S5IzaKso)  
> Tags: gen, team as family, dancing, Tressa being cute, Olberic would be a good dad.

“Olberic, I beg you.” Primrose looks horrified. She takes Olberic’s hands in hers, pleading.

He’s worried too but can’t understand her reaction. “I don’t know if I can...”

“Please, please. You have to stop her.” Tressa is luckily too far from them to hear but not enough to lose sight of her. “She can’t know.” They barely have enough leaves to sleep at the inn tonight but Tressa is so excited about the tiny fair they’ve come across. “There has to be a way to take her away from the stands. I’ll go dancing at the square to make some money in the meantime.”

Olberic knows this is serious and he can’t say no to Primrose. He has to stop her, to distract her for a few hours.

“What do kids even like?” He sighs tiredly and Primrose just shrugs her shoulders. “Look, the village is quite small, look for me if you need help.” He knows he’ll regret this later.

Primrose nods and lets go of his hands. “Okay. Let’s split up then. I wish you good luck.” She disappears in the crowd and Olberic knows he’ll need it.

He walks to Tressa, who is looking at a few stands with a thoughtful expression. Looks like she’s in her element... Once he’s close enough, he rests a hand on her shoulder and tries looking in the same direction she is. “Anything of interest?”

She goes still for a second and blinks. “Sir Olberic! You’ve startled me!” She complains, pouting, yet goes back to her cheerful behavior. “Not really. Just looking around.”

He has to try and get her out of the stands before she sees anything they can’t afford.

“Wouldn’t you like to do something else then?” Olberic asks slyly, or at least trying to be sly.

Tressa turns around to look at him, hand to her chin. “This town, it used to be within the borders of Hornburg, right?” Or so he’d told Tressa and Primrose on the road. “I’d like to do something… I don’t know… Traditional?” She points out as she walks out of the stand and down the crowded street. First step achieved. “Did you like going to the fairs? It’d be great if we could do something together!” She smiles like she’s made of sunshine.

Olberic can’t help but let out a small chuckle and shake his head. “I couldn’t go to many fairs, most of the time I was on duty.”

Tressa looks down in embarrassment. “Oh, right… That’s kinda sad…”

She’s a gentle kid. Olberic feels like patting her head lightly but they’ve only been on the road together for a month or so. He doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable or feel like he’s babying her. He tries to think about what he enjoyed when he was eighteen. He and Erhardt would go to eat somewhere and drink at night. They’d go sparring and take a swim if there was a brook close enough. In town, he enjoyed watching plays from any wandering troupe and walking through parks in bigger cities, nearly dozing off on a bench while Erhardt composed. And mostly when drunk or feeling especially lighthearted, he would like dancing with a few of his brothers in arms.

That… isn’t actually a bad idea.

“Tressa.” She’s been waiting for him to make up his mind. “Do you like dancing?”

Tressa stares at him wide-eyed and speaks so quietly that Olberic has to focus to understand her. “Sir Olberic, would you do that for me?” Then she panics. “But… I don’t know how to dance to this kind of music… What if I step on your toes and break them and you can’t walk an-” She’s talking so fast Olberic hasn’t had time to answer.

Olberic sighs tiredly. “Come on, I’ll teach you.” He doesn’t have to say anything else because suddenly Tressa is grabbing him by his wrist and pulling him through the busy streets, laughing. He can’t help but smile fondly and follow her, begging pardon at their fellow bystanders. He hears a few of them muttering that he’s such a good father and he goes red in the face quickly.

Once they arrive at a little square where a few villagers are playing their songs, Tressa quits running and doubles over, catching her breath. Olberic has to pull his hair back, stilling his breath.

“You have to teach me. Please, please, please, please.” She demands with a face none can tell no to.

There are some people dancing around to the tune, changing pairs and spinning. Olberic looks at them before talking and Tressa follows his gaze and stares with determination.

“This kind of dance is quite easy, I should tell you.” It isn’t like court dancing. “First, you’ll need a partner.” Tressa takes his wrist again without skipping a beat. “There are two roles in this dance:” Tressa is staring at the dancers in the square, trying to figure out what Olberic’s saying. “it’s mostly based on height but as long as it isn’t uncomfortable, you can do either. The shorter is called the spinner.” Quite self-explanatory. “The other one is the weaver.”

Tressa frowns in concentration and then looks up at Olberic. “Guess I’ll have to be the spinner then.” She pouts and Olberic can understand: last time he was a spinner he was twenty-four at a noble wedding and the High Princess Tibelde, heiress of Hornburg, was a woman nearing his height. It’d been years since the last time he thought about her and it makes him smile with sorrow.

“Not necessarily. If you feel confident enough after practicing a little, we could join the circle. I’m pretty sure you’d like it.” There are a few children dancing too and Tressa looks way less intimidating than him. “Now, lets begin.”

He has Tressa’s attention once again, full of energy, that child. He teaches her the basics and how to avoid crashing on other couples before helping her spin, dress rising to her knees and she’s laughing and breathing heavily. He pulls carefully away from her and guides her. For a brief second, he lifts her as if she weighs nothing and Tressa opens her eyes wide, smiling with her teeth.

He didn’t expect this when Primrose told him to keep Tressa away from the stands but he’s perfectly content with it. Tressa pulls him into the circle and they move along with the flow of people around them. Once the violins and the guitars change pace, they exchange partners. Tressa dances with a boy that must be half her age when his, probably, brother lands into Olberic. They keep an eye on the little pair while Olberic spins him.

“They are splitting now. He’s fine.” The young man looks less tense now.

“Thank you, sire. I must say your daughter is a fast learner.” Olberic stares, embarrassed as they change once again.

They dance to a few more songs, until Tressa grabs his wrists once more. She pulls him out of the circle, leaning on his arm, eyes closed and head still dizzy and light. Primrose waves at them from a bench close to the fountain and they sit together once more. Tressa breathes loudly and this time leans on Primrose’s shoulder as Olberic is catching his breath too. They look up when they hear Primrose laughing lightly.

“Didn’t take you for a dancer, Sir.” She gives him a playful smile and then looks at Tressa. “And you, Tressa… You enjoy it so much. If you ever want me to teach you something, I’d be delighted to do so.”

Tressa stares wide-eyed and nods, with a beaming smile. “I’d love it!” She’s grinning, showing her teeth, and Primrose can’t help but smile faintly and give her shoulder a tiny squeeze. “Ah… I’m starving!” She’s up again in a jump and looks around. Primrose and Olberic make eye contact, they’d almost made it. “Are those baked apples?!” She’s looking at a stand from far away and turns to both of them, begging.

Primrose sighs. Time to tell the truth. “I’ve made enough money for some food and supplies but I don’t think…”

“What are you talking about?” Tressa looks confused and reaches for her bag. “I found some leaves on our way here.” And takes out a full and heavy pouch. “I think we have waaaaaaay more than enough.” She smiles innocently as Olberic and Primrose take the pouch and stare in utter shock.

They stay quiet for a while and Tressa is beginning to worry when Olberic speaks. “You better have gotten that legally…” He isn’t sure how she could find so much money on the road without either them noticing.

“Guess you don’t have to distract her any longer…” Primrose seems relieved but prefers not to ask about Tressa’s deals.

Tressa looks at them alarmed and lets out an indignant sound. “Wait, what?! Distract me?!” She pouts and frowns and it’s one of least intimidating things Olberic has ever seen. “Mrgrgrgrgrgrgrg… I can’t believe you!” She exclaims, arms up in the air, as Primrose laughs at her. Olberic just shakes his head. Looks like they should trust their little merchant more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to @wintershiny at tumblr, for dealing with me on daily basis and making all of this possible!


	4. Let's Play a Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spending the night at an inn, Erhardt finds a surprise inside his room's chest and Olberic fears the mischief he sees in his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: The Trooper and the Maid (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UL9Lvb4OAg0)  
> Tags: pregame, lyrics, implied sexual content, lots of PDA, some making out, dancing, crossdressing, Erhardt needs to be stopped(?)

They’re on a short leave at a seaside town and their troop has scattered around town. He and Erhardt had been out for a walk since they’d been dismissed and now, pretty late at night, are looking for a place to stay. They find a tiny inn frequented by local drunk sailors. The innkeeper, a short-sighted runty old man reaches to give them a single key until he hears Erhardt speak quietly to Olberic and changes it for two keys quickly. They pretend they didn’t notice until they’re going up the stairs and Erhardt can’t help but laugh.

“Come on, that wasn’t even funny.” Olberic nudges at him but cracks a smile too.

“Old man is blind as a mole.” He smiles amused and nearly bends in half with laughter. “Okay, okay. Lets change and come down to drink something.”

They part ways to their rooms. Olberic is by now used to being apart whilst at inns or guesthouses, yet more often than not, they find some trick to get away with murder. If the place is crowded, they could say in a seemingly selfless act they don’t mind sharing. Not today.

Olberic leaves his weapons leaning on the tiny chair, next to his armor and sweaty, dusty road clothes. He’s folding them and putting them away inside the small chest under his window when he hears a quick knock at his door. He’s barely there to open it when Erhardt comes right in.

“Olberic, come over.” He makes a fast gesture with his hand and he’s out again, the door open ajar. Olberic sighs but follows him with only mild complaining to his own room, closing the doors. He waits near the door while Erhardt smiles at him with mischief. “Someone forgot something leaving the inn in a hurry.”

Olberic would normally tell him to warn the innkeeper then but he can’t bring himself to trust that smile. “Oh? That’s a shame.” He’s waiting for it.

Erhardt hums as he kneels close to the open chest and Olberic looks warily. “I was thinking… Since none of our mates are here, maybe we could play a game.” There’s a ring to his voice that says it is probably a horrible idea he would reject right away if he wasn’t as tired as he is. “Come here.” He’s still kneeling beside the chest and Olberic approaches, looking at him warily.

“No.” He doesn’t give it a second thought. “Erhardt, no.” He points at him with a severe look, like a father points at his child when they want him to indulge them on something.

Erhardt sulks and picks up the light white dress. “Come on. You’re no fun at all.” He moves the clothes closer to his chest and spins just once. “I miss when you were happy-go-lucky and I was the stern one.” He falls on the bed and lowers his shirt, showing one of his shoulders and then looking right at Olberic.

He sighs tiredly. “Why?” He doesn’t have to say anything more.

Erhardt laughs mirthfully. “Because it’s fun. Nobody knows us here, what could go wrong? I just don’t have to talk.” He’s grinning like mad and Olberic isn’t as sure anymore.

“Why do you think it’ll be fun?” He’s falling for it and he shouldn’t.

Erhardt stares thoughtfully at the ceiling before looks at Olberic once more, smiling with his teeth. “You were raised with your nieces and nephews, weren’t you? I’m sure all of you liked playing pretend, maybe dressing up. It’s just like that.” Olberic wants to say it isn’t. “Also…” He smiles mischievously. “Playing deceptively is really fun.”

“And here I thought you were a model knight.” Olberic shakes his head.

“I’m a knight but I’ll always be a bard at heart.” And Olberic knows he has already lost.

“One more thing.” Erhardt eyes shine with anticipation. “I’m pretty sure your shape is undeniably… male.”

Erhardt opens his eyes wide and laughs once more before getting up. “Dear Olberic, I’ve already thought about that. I’m always one step further ahead… And here’s when I’ll need your help.” He kneels before the chest once more and picks up something else, showing it to Olberic, triumphant.

Olberic takes the corset carefully and looks at Erhardt dubiously. “I’m already starting to regret this.”

 

It doesn’t look as bad as Olberic first feared. Barely in their twenties, Erhardt still has enough childish features to pass as androgynous. The white dress fits him well enough and even Olberic would have had trouble recognizing if he didn’t already know. Quietly, Erhardt takes him by his hand and leads him to the ground floor. As weird as it may be, Olberic can’t help but feel anxious and excited at the same time. At their age they can’t just walk hand in hand anymore; Hell, it was barely tolerable when they’d met in their early teens. If they pretended well enough, they could, just for a while longer.

Olberic gets them their drinks and dinner while Erhardt picks a table at the far end of the room. He doesn’t say it aloud but Olberic can read the ‘cheers’ on his lips before they both down their drinks. They dinner quietly until Erhardt single-handedly decides they should be more…affectionate and stands briefly to sit back at Olberic’s lap. One of the drunken habitues whistles at them and Erhardt hides his face in the crook of Olberic’s neck, trying not to laugh and blow their cover.

Olberic is a blushing mess but he survives dinner, Erhardt only talking quietly in his ear when he’s sure there’s no one around, arm on his shoulders and Erhardt’s weight on his leg. Looks like Erhardt is content enough with his little game when some dirty popular song starts, played by the also-drunken bards at the inn. Erhardt blinks at him, begging him and though he may look different, the eyes are undeniably his. Oh, Olberic is a weak man.

_A trooper lad came here at night_  
_With riding he was weary_  
_A trooper lad came here at night_  
_When the moon shone bright and clearly_

Their plates and tankards empty and their bills paid, Olberic leads Erhardt through the small corridor to another part of the room where they have way more room to dance. A few drunkards whistle again, one of them even to catcalls Erhardt and Olberic feels like breaking his nose right there but his partner stops him and soon enough he’s spinning Erhardt, dress flying up to his knees with a graceful move.

_She's taken the trooper by the hand_  
_And led him to her chamber_  
_She's given him cheese and wine to drink_  
_And the wine it falls like ember_

At first he has only eyes for his dance partner, but soon he realizes some of the others customers have joined them on the floor and are dancing to the tune as well. Olberic can plainly see the joy in Erhardt’s visage and feels like leaning in to kiss him. May as well do so, no one will care.

_Lassie, I’ll lie near you yet_  
_Bonnie lassie, I'll lie near you_  
_And I'll gar all your ribbons reel_  
_In the morning air I'll leave you_

Erhardt is biting his bottom lip not to laugh and, by now, he’s succeeding. However, it would probably leave some mark and it’d go pink and softly bruise. Erhardt pokes at his side and Olberic ends his daydreaming to spin him once more. He’s lithe in his arms and quite a sight too.

_She's made her bed both long and wide_  
_And made it like a lady_  
_She's taken her coatie over her head_  
_Saying trooper are you ready?_

His braid is slowly untying itself, messy hairs all around and more than a few of them on Olberic’s shoulder, where Erhardt whispered not long ago. It smells dry and dusty from marching. If there was a bathtub in this place, they would have already taken good use of it, even if little water could fit with two adult men inside in.

_They hadn't been, but an hour in bed_  
_But an hour at a quarter_  
_When drums came beating down the street_  
_And every beat was shorter_

_Lassie, I’ll lie near you yet_  
_Bonnie lassie, I'll lie near you_  
_And I'll gar all your ribbons reel_  
_In the morning air I'll leave you_

Olberic steps on the feet of some lady dancing alongside them and mutters a quiet apology, red in the face, as the woman says it’s nothing. They aren’t making a scene anymore but being part of it and the anxiousness is mostly gone. He won’t tell Erhardt but Olberic is actually enjoying himself.

_And when will you come back again_  
_My own dear soldier laddie_  
_And when will you come back again_  
_And be your Bairnie's daddy_

_Lassie I maun leavin' you_  
_Bonnie lassie I maun leave you_  
_When heather cows grow ousen bows_  
_And I'll come back and see you_

The song may have ended but its lyrics still stick to Olberic’s head as they dance once more, and once more after that, uninterrupted. Their breaths grow heavy and tired, Erhardt’s eyes half-lidded with exhaustion but still fiery and mischievous.

_Shes taken her coatie over her head_  
_And followed him up to Stirling_  
_She grown sae fu and she couldn't a boo_  
_And they left her in Dunferniline_

They could have danced for what feels like hours and barely a few minutes at the same time when they leave the room, going up the stairs. Erhardt feels like laughing but they aren’t in private yet. But Olberic does laugh. At least until Erhardt pushes him by his shoulders on the dark corridor of the top floor against a wall and kisses him with urgency and little fineness. Olberic is startled at first but doesn’t even care about checking the corridor before leaning further down, a hand on Erhardt’s nape and another on the small of his back, over the tight corset.

_Lassie, I’ll lie near you yet_  
_Bonnie lassie, I'll lie near you_  
_And I'll gar all your ribbons reel_  
_In the morning air I'll leave you_

Olberic’s back is already against the wall so Erhardt is the only one who can step back when someone coughs to get their attention. They are right, they overdid it. Erhardt leans on Olberic’s chest as if to hide his face and Olberic apologizes shortly. Said person leaves promptly afterwards, yet Olberic intertwines his fingers with his partner’s in a light caress and leads them to his bedroom. As soon as the door is closed after them, Erhardt pushes him once more, less violently and more playful, against the bed. Olberic lets himself fall right on the bed, legs bending, half-sitting, to watch as Erhardt finally gets out of the white dress.

_Lassie, I’ll lie near you yet_  
_Bonnie lassie, I'll lie near you_  
_And I'll gar all your ribbons reel_  
_In the morning air I'll leave you_

Erhardt tries to reach for his back to unlace the corset and Olberic isn’t even thinking when he speaks. “Wait.” And so his partner waits, looking at him without a trace of shame. “Could you leave it on?” Olberic opens his eyes wide in awe at his own words and Erhardt laughs loudly, just as he has wanted to do for the whole evening.

_Lassie, I’ll lie near you yet_  
_Bonnie lassie, I'll lie near you_  
_And I'll gar all your ribbons reel_  
_In the morning air I'll leave you_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my love to @wintershiny on tumblr, who makes these readable!
> 
> (I will slow down a bit for a while, since I'm more busy now but I'll try to keep it to a chapter every week. I'll try my best!)


	5. Time for Lighthearted Songs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He joins them for a while. Though Olberic wants to still be wary, he can't help but smile. He travels from village to village, playing everywhere he can,just like it used to be. A child climbs to his lap, asking for a tale, a song, and Erhardt obliges. Olberic thinks that maybe the time for lighthearted songs could come back once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Sera was never (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7jCFwsgCK8o)  
> Tags: minor Alfyn/Zeph, singing, miscommunication, team as family, kind of character introspection.

Alfyn told them to stay at Clearbrook a few days more before carrying on with their journey. Most of them had finished their personal quests but the familiar company and feeling of belonging is too much to let go just yet, so they wander some more. On their way to the last of Alfyn’s quests, they head back to Wellspring to ask Erhardt for a hand on their journey, only for a while. And he’s still there with them.

Alfyn is sitting with his friend Zeph, talking non-stop about his discoveries, showing him his journal. He looks so happy and excited about sharing his newfound experiences. Zeph is listening carefully whilst he keeps an eye on his sister Nina, who sits alongside her friend and some other children by a fountain at the plaza. Erhardt is playing some soft tunes and Primrose is helping him with storytelling, fascinating their young audience. Tressa has set up her little store and is attracting some customers. Cyrus and Ophilia went to a quieter place early in the morning to read peacefully. H’aanit is taking Linde for a walk by the river. As for Therion…he is nowhere to be found, and that’s usually a bad thing.

Olberic leans against the wall of a house in the shade, eyes closed and listening to the quiet music and Primrose’s expressive voice. He has been thinking lately… He wants to be cautious, wary, wounds and rancor still fresh and open like a deep, oozing wound. He wants to, but he can’t bring himself to do so. He cracks an eye open to peek at the picture before him. Nina has sat on Erhardt’s lap as he’s teaching her the basics of playing the lute, calloused bony fingers over her tiny hands. Olberic looks at Zeph in the corner of his eye for a short moment, he looks startled until Alfyn laughs and tells him that there’s nothing to worry about.

“Sir.” One of the youngest children sitting on the floor looks up to Erhardt, embarrassed. He is either six or younger. “Could you play a…happier song?” He looks back at the ground.

Erhardt opens his eyes wide, surprised and Primrose laughs at him. “A happier song?” He repeats, unsure of what the kid meant. Olberic feels like laughing too but he doesn’t. Truth be told, Erhardt has never been one for lighthearted songs, voice calm, yet more fitting for tales of sorrow and woe.

“You are a troubadour, are you not, your lordship?” Primrose asks teasingly. “You should know of some song more fitting for your beloved audience.” She narrows her eyes in provocation and Olberic knows Erhardt will answer her without a doubt.

Erhardt thinks about it for a while before snapping his fingers. “My lady, would you please sit beside your friends now? I know you are skilled but this tune might be too complicated for you right now.” He tells Nina and the girl blushes and begs his pardon as she sits back on the ground. Erhardt crosses his legs and takes his lute once again. “So be it. This one is from an old tale my lady mother used to tell me when I was barely a chicken.” He leans on Primrose to whisper something on her ear and the woman smiles warmly. “Have any of you heard of The Dragon Age?”

The crowd gasps and leans forward and Olberic narrows his eyes in fondness. It’s been years since the last time he heard that old Hornburgian tale, bards sitting at plazas just like Primrose and Erhardt are doing now. Instruments and voices clear as water, he and Erhardt sharing some food as they listen from an alley. Something inside him tells him to stop thinking about that but he can’t help it.

_Sera was never an agreeable girl_   
_Her tongue tells tales of rebellion._   
_But she was so fast,_   
_And quick with her bow,_   
_No one quite knew where she came from._

Erhardt sings alongside Primrose, fingers on his lute and looking at their audience with kind eyes. Olberic remembers Lady Tibelde’s daughter; she would be the same age as Tressa now. He wonders if Erhardt thinks of her at all. After all, they taught her horseriding and even would dance with her at the few balls they attended. He didn’t give it much thought back then, but Olberic had always known that he loved seeing Erhardt with children. Yet now he wished he didn't.

_Sera was never quite the quietest girl_   
_Her attacks are loud and they're joyful._   
_But she knew the ways of nobler men,_   
_And she knew how to enrage them._

Tressa is looking at the odd couple singing, humming softly to the tune. She has work to do but it doesn’t hurt to rest for a while, does it? Actually, Erhardt temporarily joining them had been Tressa’s idea and the man hadn’t been against it; neither had the other travelers. He didn’t have the heart to stop them, not after finding his partner in such a state. Erhardt probably needed this.

_She would always like to say,_   
_"Why change the past,_   
_When you can own this day?"_   
_Today she will fight,_   
_To keep her way._   
_She's a rogue and a thief,_   
_And she'll tempt your fate._

And so he joined them. Olberic would be lying if he said he hadn't missed it after all those years. Fighting beside him, sharing their food and drink, standing guard together at camp, stocking up supplies and the dances and songs… He had longed for the dances and songs for many years without noticing so. The dances and songs of late Hornburg. Every time they stop at a village and see some locals singing along with him or dancing to his tunes, Olberic can’t help but think that maybe Hornburg is still alive in its people. Erhardt may have killed the kingdom that day, years ago, but its people remember it with fondness and devotion and centuries will go by before its history and culture finally become lost.

_She would always like to say,_   
_"Why change the past,_   
_When you can own this day?"_   
_Today she will fight,_   
_To keep her way._   
_A rogue and a thief,_   
_And she'll tempt your fate._

He missed it greatly and he knows he’s not the only one. So they’d fallen back into old habits, at least most of them. Boundaries blurry and confusing, neither of them wanting to step ahead, be it because of pride or regret. It feels like they went twenty years back in time, when they would bond over sharing food and sparring and the comfort of having someone else there to hold without having to speak about it, because they both are awful with words, even if it would make things worse. So they don’t talk about it. They huddle casually at night, Erhardt tries not to steal Olberic’s stuff too often, and Olberic tries to keep a distance whilst listening to him.

_Sera was never quite the wealthiest girl_   
_Some say she lives in a tavern._   
_But she was so sharp,_   
_And quick with her bow_   
_Arrows strike like a dragon._

That brings a whole new problem. Some of his fellow travelers, especially Tressa and Primrose, are getting the wrong idea. Primrose is subtle by nature and won’t make any spontaneous remarks but Tressa is still young and can’t quite see the whole picture. Erhardt has told him not to worry about her, he can persuade her with oat cookies and jam, but Olberic just told him to stop bribing children. It’s unlikely he’ll actually listen to him though.

_Sera was never quite the gentlest girl_   
_Her eyes were sharp like a razor._   
_But she knew the ways of commoner men,_   
_And she knew just how to use them._

The song is coming to an end and Olberic shakes his head and stretches. The crowd is paying close attention to the pair, some of the villagers humming along to the popular song, kids sitting on their mother’s lap, moving their short legs to the rhythm. They have been playing for most of the morning so Olberic has a questionable idea. He leaves for the bakery in quick strides.

_She would always like to say,_   
_"Why change the past,_   
_When you can own this day?"_   
_Today she will fight,_   
_To keep her way._   
_She's a rogue and a thief,_   
_And she'll tempt your fate._

He’s back shortly, waiting for them to finish, small paper bag in hand. It smells fine so it should do. He waits for them patiently back at his wall. Seeing two troubled persons such as Primrose and Erhardt singing anything lighthearted together brings him some hope for them. Maybe now that their demons are long-gone, it could be the time for such songs.

_She would always like to say,_   
_"Why change the past,_   
_When you can own this day?"_   
_Today she will fight,_   
_To keep her way._   
_She's a rogue and a thief,_   
_And she'll tempt your fate._

There’s a loud cheer and applause. Erhardt leaves his lute on the floor and takes Primrose’s hand in his before standing up and slightly bowing to their warm audience. They are sharing a water skin, throats dry and tired from the whole day of singing, when Olberic walks up to them. Primrose waves at him warmly and her eyes light up as Olberic gives her one of the sweet brioche buns. He gives Erhardt the other.

“Gods bless you, Olberic.” She bites into it eagerly.

Olberic leans on the fountain beside them and watches mesmerized as Erhardt splits his bun in two halves and offers him one. It brings back memories of long ago.

That evening they have dinner at Alfyn’s house. The place is small but it feels good to all be crowded together. He understands it: it sure feels lonely to be on your own after traveling together for so long. So they cook dinner together, lay the table and eat sitting on the few chairs Alfyn has; on the floor, leaning on the counter… And they clean up. The house is not grand so only a couple more of them could fit along with Alfyn. They decide H’aanit, Ophilia and Linde shall stay there, as snow leopards are usually not allowed inside inns. They lay a few blankets and pillows on the floor of the living room and they lounge there for a while.

They go from one topic to another until they have it in for Alfyn and start teasing him about his obvious crush on his friend. Obvious to anyone beside Zeph and probably Cyrus, who is staring at them, confused to say the least. Olberic pays it little attention as he does the dishes. Until:

“If you two ever decide to travel the world working together, you should get a warhorse.” He nearly chokes on air when he hears Erhardt speak and turns around to stare at him. He’s petting Linde’s head, the beast has been headbutting his hand to get his attention the whole dinner.

Alfyn opens his eyes wide but it’s Tressa who speaks, puzzled. “Why would two apothecaries need a warhorse, Sir Erhardt?”

Erhardt smile is oh-so cocky and pleased. “It’s an old tradition from Hornburg. A simple horse, even with a wagon, would struggle to carry two fully grown adults and all their belongings so newlywed couples used to get a warhorse to do so if they desired to travel together.” He lies blatantly.

“Most interesting.” The professor says as Alfyn and Ophilia look like they’re having a stroke from the embarrassment.

“You’re lying.” Primrose doesn’t even bat an eye.

“Obviously. But it’s still a good idea, is it not?”

They argue for a while longer and Olberic tries to calm back down, but that was close. On their way to the inn, he sees how Primrose is staring at him and, as they change into their nightclothes, he can feel Therion complaining about the noise even if they are as quiet as one can be. He squeezes Erhardt by his waist and feels a soothing cool hand on his arm. They are truly awful at talking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to @wintershiny on tumblr. I wouldn't be able to publish any of these without your help.
> 
> (Also, I encourage you to check out Gingertail on youtube, she's very talented and her voice is so very sweet. You'll see a bit more of her on future D&S's.)


	6. Playing Pretend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It may be the wrong voice, the wrong shape, wrong shade and wrong name but they are pitiful men and don't mind the humilliation as long as they know the other will play along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: The Jolly Roving Tar (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d9sg3IL4gVY)  
> Tags: Olberic Eisenberg/Leon Bastralle, past one-sided Leon Bastralle/Baltazar, drinking, non-explicit sex, sailor songs, two consenting adults taking questionable choices, one night stands, (Leon needs more love).

The journey to Rippletide had been longer and more tiring than Olberic expected; bandits and wild beasts waiting for him at every step. Most nights he wouldn’t dare to light a fire in case of them approaching him in his sleep. He dozed off whilst still sitting, holding his blade for dear life. It’d been a long time since he’d last traveled by himself and he wasn’t used to it. No one to stand guard for or with, nobody to cover his back or to take shifts doing chores.

Olberic pushes those thoughts aside once he arrives at the small seashore town. Right now he feels like heading right for the inn and getting a good deal of sleep. He’ll care about stocking up tomorrow morning. However, as he walks through the small village, his thirst arises. So as soon as he’s reserved his room at the inn, he leaves for the tavern. The warm sea breeze is inviting and he aches for some cold beer.

The place is noisy but that’s the usual thing whenever sailors touch land. Loud singing and clumsy dancing, the smell of booze strong as soon as he opens the door. Olberic chooses a peaceful corner, far away from the counter. He eats some clam soup and drinks a few rounds quietly as he glances around the place. Everything seems just fine until he sees a blond haired person sitting at the counter. Though he knows it could be anyone, it makes him anxious and uneasy.

The man, because it’s definitely a man, stands up and Olberic realizes he’s a few inches taller than his former partner. All clad in blue and gray, the stranger leans in to tell the bartender something and he laughs. His voice is also off, and Olberic should stop staring at him or he’s going to get himself into trouble. So he goes back to his soup and beer and he distracts himself for a few minutes longer before going back to staring at the stranger. The man turns around to talk to another customer, drink in hand, and Olberic can see his eye-patch. For a short second, he can feel the man looking back at him too.

He asks the barkeeper for another pint of beer and he drinks in silence by himself, eyes closed. Now it’s his turn to feel observed; he can tell there’s someone watching him, so he opens his eyes cautiously. He finds himself staring once again at the man by the counter. His hair is the wrong shade of blond and his skin too tan from the restless sun of the sea, but the similarities are still there in plain sight if he looks for them. Olberic doesn’t dare say what he’s looking for when he gulps and tries to stop ogling at this stranger.

Olberic thinks about leaving when the waiter comes to his table and sets a glass of whiskey there. Olberic stares at the drink for a few seconds until he collects himself and talks. “Pardon me. I have not asked for a drink.”

The waiter nods. “From a friend.”

Olberic is alone soon after and he looks back to the mysterious man, who’s raising his own glass of whiskey at him as a greeting. Olberic greets him too with a short nod and takes a sip. That’s better than whatever he had expected. Now that he’s looking right at him, Olberic would say that there’s something familiar about this man. They stay like that for a long while, openly staring at one another as they drink. The already loud music picks up in speed to some obscene sailor song and Olberic watches as the man gets out of his stool and begins to make his way to his quiet table.

_Well, here we are, we're back again_  
_Safe upon the shore_  
_In Rippletide town we'd like to stay_  
_And go to sea no more_  
_We'll go into a public house_  
_And drink till we're content_  
_For the lassies they will love us_  
_Till our money is all spent_

_So pass the flowin' bowl_  
_Boys there's whiskey in the jar_  
_And we'll drink to all the lassies_  
_And the jolly roving tar_

Olberic nudges a chair to him with his leg and places his glass aside. The stranger smiles coyly at the gesture and nods, sitting on his new chair crossing his legs. Looks like one of those sailors with an easy smile. He shows Olberic his teeth when he grins. “Didn’t know you landlubbers had these tastes too.” And though he’s looking at his glass, Olberic can tell he isn’t talking about booze. His insolence suits him. It’s been a long time.

_Oh Johnny did you miss me_  
_When the nights were long and cold?_  
_Or did you find another love?_  
_In your arms to hold_  
_Says he I thought of only you_  
_While on the sea afar_  
_So come up the stairs and cuddle_  
_With your jolly roving tar_

_So pass the flowin' bowl_  
_Boys there's whiskey in the jar_  
_And we'll drink to all the lassies_  
_And the jolly roving tar_

They speak quietly in their corner, talking about alcohol and traveling and avoiding anything that may remotely be personal. However, there’s some wrongness that Olberic can’t stand so he has to ask. “May I have your name?” He asks bluntly and the man blinks dumbfoundedly a couple of times before cracking a grin.

“Leon would do just fine, mate.” He downs his glass and Olberic feels like he has heard that name somewhere before.

“Olberic.” They shake hands and Olberic could have sworn that there was some excited mischievousness and danger in Leon’s eye, almost too intense to put him off.

“Now that is definitely something.” Leon mutters to himself as he fidgets with his empty glass. Olberic knows he has recognized him. Maybe he should go before he could be blackmailed but there’s something about Leon that draws him closer. Maybe he’s just feeling nostalgic, which is unfair for this man.

_Well, in each other's arms they rolled_  
_Till the break of day_  
_When the sailor rose and said farewell_  
_I must be on me way_  
_Ah, don't you leave me Johnny lad_  
_I thought you'd marry my_  
_Says he I can't be married_  
_For I'm married to the sea_

_So pass the flowin' bowl_  
_Boys there's whiskey in the jar_  
_And we'll drink to all the lassies_  
_And the jolly roving tar_

Turns out both of them avoid using the other’s name as much as they can and Olberic is surprised when Leon doesn’t seem upset by that. He’s probably overthinking all of this. He should drink some more and try to forget about his intrusive thoughts. The next round is on him and Leon leans his head on his hand. Olberic feels guilty when he realizes his eye is too blue and he looks down at his empty glass.

Leon gives him an awkward look and leans forward to keep his voice low. “Are you feeling well, mate? Want me to leave?” Olberic shakes his head and Leon sighs with relief. “Then what’s it, mate? Want my deals to go as smoothly as possible.”

Olberic shouldn’t tell him, he isn’t even drunk, but the sting of pain in his chest is too much. He should let Leon know so he can make his retreat and forget about it. “I’m sorry but… You remind me of someone else.”

Leon is surprised but he smiles sadly, looking at his drink too. “That doesn’t have to be a bad thing, does it, mate?” Olberic looks at him, smelling the strong alcohol inside his glass and closing his eye. “How does thinking about that other person makes you feel?” Leon looks up to him again with intensity.

Stupid. Furious. Sick. Useless. Like a fool. Warm. Olberic should be offended at the question but Leon isn’t trying to push him, there’s some knowing feeling in his glance. “Not really well.”

Leon laughs at his wording lightly, shaking his head and looking at Olberic through blond eyelashes. “Would you believe me if I told you it’s the same here?”

Olberic stares at him before laughing loudly and Leon joins him shortly afterwards. His head feels light and heavy at the same time. Once their voices die down, he says: “We are lame.” And Leon nods with a wide smile on his face.

_Well come all you bonnie lasses_  
_And a warning take by me_  
_And never trust and Costlandman_  
_An inch above your knee_  
_He'll tease you and he'll squeeze you_  
_And when he's had his fun_  
_He'll leave you in the morning_  
_With a daughter or a son_

_So pass the flowin' bowl_  
_Boys there's whiskey in the jar_  
_And we'll drink to all the lassies_  
_And the jolly roving tar_

Surprisingly, they are more comfortable now that they both know the truth. They share meaningless stories of travels and fights and Olberic looks at Leon, eyes hazy from laughter. “I know who you are, captain.”

Leon gulps and ogles at him openly. “So do I, sire.”

He shouldn’t go to bed with a well-known criminal, a well-known pirate captain, but he doesn’t mind some more humiliation. Not now that they both know they want to play with each other just for the sake of feeling something remotely similar. They truly are pitiful men.

_So pass the flowin' bowl_   
_Boys there's whiskey in the jar_   
_And we'll drink to all the lassies_   
_And the jolly roving tar_

The tavern is still loud with music and chatter and too crowded to have a private conversation without getting unwanted attention. So Leon raises from his chair in a smooth motion and makes it to the counter to pay before catching up with Olberic by the door. They walk in silence through calm streets. The night here is warmer than in Cobbleston, which was up in the mountains. Leon stops a couple of times to greet a man or two, probably part of his crew.

Olberic gives him a quick side-glance and once they’re alone again, Leon shakes his head. “I’m just a merchant now, nothing illegal you should worry about, sire.” He smiles lightly and Olberic relaxes just a bit. He’d probably do this too even if he didn’t know and it unsettles him.

They keep their voices down on their way to the inn, talking quietly about anything else. Leon isn’t surprised when Olberic gets to the counter and asks for his key. However, Olberic still feels anxious as he walks upstairs a few minutes before his partner, to keep a low profile, or so Leon had said. Olberic takes off his gloves, trying to calm himself down. Yet reality hits him when he hears the clear pattern of knocks on his door and suddenly Leon is there too, bottle of wine in hand.

“Hope you don’t mind but I brought a friend with me.” He uncorks the bottle with a dagger and takes a long sip before offering it to Olberic, who does the same. They leave the bottle by the table and stare awkwardly at each other for about half a minute. Then Leon grabs him by his shirt to kiss him roughly, nibbling at his lip and pulling him down. However, he manages to be gentler than the faint memory of Erhardt. Olberic cups his face carefully and buries his hands on his hair. The fabric of the eye-patch against his face feels alien to him and he fidgets with its buckle.

If he closes his eyes hard enough and lets himself go he can picture his long time partner beside him, he can imagine Erhardt staring at him as he kisses him, nails digging on his neck. He can pretend he belongs there. Then he opens his eyes and the daydreaming is over. Leon also sports a sorrowful look as he pushes him on the bed and strips. He was pretending too. Olberic should feel used but he doesn’t even care.

Olberic shifts his weight on the too-short bed as he takes off his shirt. Leon stares at him and he feels self-conscious. “I know… The scars-”

Leon shakes his head. “I’m fine with scars. I like them.”

Leon joins him on the bed and, for the next half- hour or so, everything is fine as long as they close their eyes. Olberic hears him mutter to himself at times. Hands on Leon’s tights, he nuzzles at his eye-patch with his nose. “Are you sure you wouldn’t be more comfortable without this?”

And he can tell Leon is surprised, he smiles with real embarrassment this once. “It’s not a nice sight.”

Olberic shakes his head. “Would he do it?” Leon is looking up at him and his eye almost too shiny and moist. He nods shortly, muttering ‘I’d like to think so’ and he takes his eye-patch off. It’s a nasty scar yet Olberic is used to them. It doesn’t make him any less beautiful, yet it would feel so wrong to say that aloud. So he gives his eyelid a light kiss as he holds his hips closer. Leon’s laughter sounds so torn for a short second that Olberic fears he could cry.

After a short while, Leon gathers enough guts to speak again. “Can I turn around?” Olberic nods and Leon doesn’t waste a minute.

Blond hair under his nose, holding on a slim yet strong frame for dear life. It’s so familiar he can pretend he’s barely an adult once more. He can travel back to overcrowded inns in Hornburg, room to room with their mates, keeping his voice down by mouthing carefully at his partner’s nape. Though it was unfair, the name may have slipped from his lips, so he doesn’t care when this man he barely knows calls out for another stranger.

He lies back and the blond head rests on his chest for a while as they catch their breath. Olberic tiredly roams his hands across his chest and stomach. They are similarly built too. He thinks of the time when he first met Erhardt, the boy was so thin he could easily count his ribs. As time went on and they trained and ate healthier, he gained some weight too, enough to grow muscle where once there was only bone and skin.

Leon shifts after a while. “That was nice.” He hums and silence falls once again. “He’s alive, isn’t he?” By how he says it, whoever he’s thinking about isn’t and Olberic makes a mental note not to bring the topic up.

“Both of us are too stubborn to die.” That draws a guffaw from Leon and Olberic can feel himself smiling too.

Leon stands up carefully and reaches for the bottle once again and leaves it on the bedside table as he begins to dress. If it was actually his partner, Olberic would complain and hold onto him, beg him not to go yet, to let him suffocate on his sleep on his hair. But it’s not, so he doesn’t make a move.

Leon is halfway through his breeches when he turns around to Olberic once more. “Could I give you a piece of advice, sir?”

Olberic raises his eyebrow but nods either way. “Go ahead.”

“You don’t have to live like this.” He continues to look for his clothes as he speaks. “Go find your partner, punch him in the face for whatever he did until your fist is bleeding and then fuck him until neither of you can breathe.”

Olberic coughs, blushing in embarrassment. “I’m fine with only the first two, actually.” He tries to compose himself and Leon smiles knowingly.

“Are you?”

Leon leaves shortly afterwards, telling him he’ll be back in a day or two with his crew. He leaves him with a quarter of a bottle of wine and a more tired mind than he bargained for. As he drifts to sleep, he thinks about the little words Leon had shared about his partner. ‘I’d like to think so.’ Should he be thankful he’d had him? Wouldn’t it sting less? It was meaningless to think about such a thing now.

 

Two days later he meets a cheerful child, a young girl named Tressa who talks about traveling the world and adventure. She asks for his help and nearly tries to hire him but Olberic wouldn’t be a knight of Hornburg if he’d denied such a brave thing his helping hand. He’s surprised and ashamed when the captain shows after their battle against the pirates.

When Tressa gets down from the beautiful ship, old notebook in hand. She begs him to let her join him on his travels though he has barely told her a thing. She wants to see the world and write about it, to do great things. Olberic isn’t sure at first about letting this child follow him along his dangerous path but when he looks up for the Gods to give him a sign, he only sees Leon smiling faintly from the deck. Then he knows Tressa would go on her own journey even if he refuses and he isn’t going to leave her to her own luck.

“That’s great! Thank you!” She’s beaming. “Wait right here. I’m going to tell my parents I’m leaving!” And the girl is already running down the streets.

A dreadful thought crosses Olberic’s mind. “Wait, Tressa. You’re not telling your parents you’re leaving to travel with an older man you just met, are you?” That would be…wrong.

“That’s exactly what I’m going to do ‘cause it’s true.” She laughs and Olberic feels like hiding even though he hasn’t done anything wrong. Up from the deck, he feels the shadow of a ghost laughing at him.

This is going to be an interesting journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks at @wintershiny at tumblr for being such a nice beta and reading my crap so often!


	7. When the Sun Rises in the West

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bones broken and blood oozing from deep gashes, they have to rest for a few days in spite of holly magic. Erhardt wishes Olberic wasn't like he is, he wishes he had given him his peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Sansa's Hymn/Gentle Mother (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sB_T7Y0jhvw)  
> Tags: injuries, recovery, implied violence, depression, mild suicidal thoughts (not sure about this but better safe than sorry with the tags), singing, spoilers from Olberic ch3.

Their broken voices echo through deep caves, thick smoke dancing around their breaths. There’s nothing left to say, no way to beg for forgiveness; to change Olberic’s mind. He will go to Riverford and there’s nothing Erhardt can do to stop him. Still, what pains him more than the breach in his head or the blood in his mouth, more than the pressure of broken ribs and cuts on his legs that prevent him from standing still, is that Olberic hasn’t been true to his word. He hasn’t brought an end to the pain, to the agony, but Erhardt has already taken enough from him and won’t beg him.

Olberic is badly injured too. Deep gashes and a broken nose. Erhardt remembers the first time they sparred together, twenty years back. He had broken Olberic’s nose then too. Now he’s leaning on his sword, crouching as he catches his breath. He finally steps forward, using his sword as a cane, toward Erhardt. And he tries to get back on his feet by himself but there’s a deep cut on his left thigh and the pain is almost too much, but he holds the tears back. Erhardt hears the tinkling of armor and Olberic is leaning down before him, offering him his hand. Erhardt takes it and Olberic pulls him onto his feet with a strong grip. He wishes he had used that strength to break his neck instead of leading him back to safety.

“Can you walk?” Thick black blood runs from Olberic’s nose down his mouth, neck and shirt. His voice sounds light from excessive bleeding, like his head could shut down any time soon. Erhardt nods and tries to take a few steps by himself, almost falling to the ground as soon as Olberic stops holding him. Olberic moves quickly and grasps him by his shoulders. Then he kneels, and that hit with the pommel of his sword to the back of Erhardt’s head must have been harder than they both thought, because Erhardt leans on him for a second, unsure of what he means.

Then he finally understands. “You’re not carrying me.” Because that’s the last thing Olberic would want to do. Why would he? Olberic should have walked out of this godsforsaken cave as soon as they had finished.

Olberic shakes his head, still kneeling. “Of course I am.”

Of course he does. Erhardt lets him carry him on his shoulders. Olberic gasps in pain as he walks with heavy feet. Erhardt leans his face against his left shoulder, where he left a nasty scar on that fateful day. Both of their blood mixes on Olberic’s shirt, on Erhardt’s face, as he walks. His breathing raspy and tired, barely conscious enough to hold his own weight, let alone Erhardt’s.

He’s too heavy, Olberic won’t be able to make it to the exit. Erhardt tries to talk, yet nothing but a quiet cough makes it past his mouth. He has tasted blood before, mostly his own, but right now he feels like he might throw up from the taste and fresh smell. Olberic should leave him here, bury his regrets and pain in fog and stone but he won’t. Olberic should have figured out what’s running through Erhardt’s mind because his hold on him grows stronger. Stubborn as a mule. Hah… They both are.

Erhardt knows he will only let go of him when the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. He holds onto him as if he was the last remaining piece of their shattered past and Erhardt does the same. His legs are around Olberic’s waist just like he holds his pillow when the memories of burnt flesh strike him in the middle of the night.

Erhardt has carried Olberic before, but it used to be the other way around, just like now. If the other was badly hurt, they would stay by each other’s side and play I spy like children to keep consciousness until the medics could reach them. Never once has Olberic’s hold on him become weaker throughout the years. Not the first time and not now, no matter how heavy Erhardt is with his gear. When Olberic holds him, his feet never touch the ground. To what lengths would he go for his sake even now? Erhardt does the best thing he can right now to make up for it: keeping himself awake.

Suddenly, as they round a corner, Erhardt hears a choked gasp and a warm light quickly dances around them. Wounds become lighter, flesh and blood regenerating. It’s a weird, not fully pleasant feeling but he appreciates it. It feels like something is pulling his skin from the inside. They were hurt, breathless, tired, thirsty and close to a mental breakdown. Now they’re just the last three. Erhardt eyes the three women carefully. A sister of the Faith, a dancer and some kid. They were with Olberic when they parted to face the leaders of the lizardmen.

Olberic shifts, his wounds closing too. “These are some of my traveling companions.” Erhardt nods. They’ll have time for that later. Olberic helps him off his back and he’s pleased he can walk by himself now.

The sister asks worried questions that Olberic shrugs off, he’s too tired to talk right now. The kid, Tressa, just looks at them with a worried pout. Erhardt wonders how someone so young has ended up doing this kind of journey… He’ll have time to ask later.

They’re close to the exit when Olberic stops in his tracks, turning back to him. He looks unsure but then he nods and looks right at him. “Please, don’t tell anyone.”

Erhardt understands he’s only trying to protect him and his new life. When they get out of that cave, Bale is on both of them; they’re not fully recovered despite the healing magic. He leads them to the townguard’s barracks. He understands why Olberic would stay there, since making him pay for an inn while he recovers would be rude. However, he complains quietly about not going to his own home. Despite his best attempts, there’s no way to change his captain’s mind.

The physician, a young lad called Alfyn, tells them to rest for a few days. Turns out another one of his companions has an issue at Wellspring, so they’re staying for a while longer either way. They visit Olberic often, checking if they’re both fine or if they’re fighting once more. Erhardt can tell they don’t trust him and would stay as long as they can, leaving them alone as little as possible. Surprisingly, Tressa seems the most comfortable with him around. She’s delighted when Olberic tells her Erhardt plays the lute.

“Do you sing too, sir?” She asks excited, as she changes the dirty bandages bound across Olberic’s broken nose. Erhardt can barely sit without feeling pain, he indeed has a couple of broken ribs. He nods but then he points to his throat. He has stayed as quiet as possible this morning, throat still hurt from the bile.

Night comes and they eat some bland dinner, too tired to care in those empty barracks. Once they’re finished, they stay still in a heavy silence. Olberic’s mat is closer to the window and Erhardt’s is not much further away; just an empty chair space between them. Olberic is laying down, his back to Erhardt. Some of those scars are new but Erhardt can recognize lots of them, including the stretchmarks on his lower back. He used to be fixated with those and it only takes a quick glance at them for him to know he still is.

“You should have left me there.” His voice sounds hoarse even to himself. Did he really mean to talk? Maybe not but Olberic makes him feel reckless and stupid.

Olberic doesn’t turn back but he draws a heavy breath. Definitely not even close to sleep. “They need you here.” Rehearsed words.

Erhardt smiles lightly. “They’re safe now. They don’t.” Because the threat is over and it’s all thanks to Olberic.

Olberic shifts in his bed and it looks like he’s going to turn around, but he thinks better of it. “That isn’t true.” But it is. “There are many dangers: great beasts, bandits, thieves…” He shivers in discomfort as he says that, and Erhardt has to stop himself from reaching to touch his shoulder and comfort him. There’s no way he can offer him comfort anymore.

His throat goes dry once again. “Is that the only reason then?” Olberic doesn’t answer. “Would have you done it if I wasn’t needed here anymore?”

Both of them stay quiet for a long time, the question lingering between them. “There’s no need to worry about that since it isn’t the case.” However, both of them do.

Olberic’s breath is uneven as he lays still, neither of them sleeping. There’s a cricket outside their window and a gentle breeze rocks them; the window’s hinge creaking softly. Olberic is restless.

“You are worried.” Erhardt states tiredly. He hums. “About them, I presume.” Olberic nods slightly with a sharp pained breath, still badly hurt. He wants to tell him they will be fine, but he doesn’t know them enough and he isn’t sure if Olberic wants comforting. “Is there something…?” Something he can do.

Olberic gulps loudly and braces his sides, holding onto his bandages and bruises. “You could… Forget it…” But he must have felt Erhardt’s inquiring eyes on his nape because he keeps talking. “Your voice is sore.” Erhardt wants to laugh at that but he can’t. Instead, he clears his throat and sings even if it hurts him. It’s more of a hum.

_Gentle Mother, font of mercy_   
_Save our sons from war, we pray._   
_Stay the swords and stay the arrows,_   
_Let them know a better day._

It’s an old song, a prayer from times of war. Words sitting heavy between them both. He first heard it years back, at the burial of some young man whose body had been rescued from the battlefield. His mother sang with a voice much clearer and more graceful than his own. A song suited for singing in a closed chapel while war raged around it. She would be horrified if she knew how many lives he had taken over the years.

_Gentle Mother, strength of women,_   
_Help our daughters through this fray._   
_Soothe the wrath and tame the fury,_   
_Teach us all a kinder way._

Olberic shifts beside him, barely an arm’s length from him. Whatever his friends are facing out there, Erhardt knows Olberic regrets not being able to be there; looking for them, guarding their backs. He has always been like that, since the beginning. However, as time went on, he had learnt to trust Erhardt with his own safety; always back to back. That lost feeling had been so familiar back in the cave. A wave of pain hits Erhardt right in his lungs and his voice cracks for a second, but he keeps singing despite it. He recalls restless nights like these, laying on their mats in their shared tent, holding Olberic, wounds and bloodied bandages plastered together for hours. They were too young.

_Gentle Mother, font of mercy,_   
_Save our sons from war, we pray._   
_Stay the swords and stay the arrows,_   
_Let them know a better day._

Olberic turns around to look at him as his voice dies down. The wind carries the tune away and they fall silent once again. Erhardt curls on his side, rib cage stinging and drawing him close to tears. They were too young and now they are too broken. Olberic leans closer to the edge of his bed, sighing heavily in discomfort. Erhardt frowns and looks at him, expression torn as he lays his open fist atop of the empty chair between them. Neither of them speak a word but Erhardt eventually moves, resting his hand atop of Olberic’s. He’s always been warm, so warm.

Olberic may not allow him to finally rest from his crimes but, in this quiet moment, his warmth lulls him to sleep; guilt and pain dulling long enough for him to rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to @wintershiny on tumblr for being so patient with me and my super slow writing.
> 
> I've been following Karliene's work for years by now and I highly encourage you to check out her channel. You'll see more of her work in future chapters.  
> As for the references in this work, you can easily spot a few to ASOIAF quite easily. Also, there's a few to Florence+The Machine's "Heavy in your arms".
> 
> I've been feeling a bit off with my writing in the last week or so but I'll try not to fall behind with the updates. I've got enough chapters ready to keep posting until mid November.  
> Also, even if I don't think I'll be able to take up requests, I'm @portaltowhateverland on tumblr. Feel free to message me with ideas and tell me what you'd like to read in future chapters.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	8. To Those Future Days of Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (I didn't come up with a serious summary for this one but): "In which every woman in the Hornburgian royal family wants to match Olberic and Erhardt up but they don't know they're already together." (which is most of the plot)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is the longest chapter by now.  
> The lyrics don't start until pretty late into the chapter, just saying.  
> Song: Naranča (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lmfv-NP0J5k) (yes, I prefer the live version rather than the studio for this one)  
> Tags: pre-game, OCs, wedding, dancing, lyrics, mild nudity at some point, slight PDA, Olberic overthinking, one (1) savage kid.

“Come on, Sir Olberic! I don’t want to miss the final!” The child pulls his sleeve cheerfully as she quickens her pace. Olberic takes long strides after her, guarding her back.

Both king and queen are reunited with the duchess and her soon-to-be husband so they cannot join their granddaughter on the jousting list that early in the morning, but they have promised to go before High Princess Tibelde jousts against Erhardt. Olberic fell the day prior against his partner but he doesn’t care about the defeat since he can enjoy Her Highness Lissete cheerful and bright company and answer her many questions as best as he can.

“Who do you think will win?” She shivers and pulls her tiny blue cloak closer. It’s early spring and so early in the morning the breeze is still fresh. “I want them both to win. Both Mother and Sir Erhardt are really strong.” She isn’t wrong. It’s a pleasure to watch both of them on horseback; they’re truly skilled fighters. Olberic prefers to have both feet touching the ground, that’s why he won the great melee yesterday.

“I fear I don’t know either, Your Highness.” The streets are crowded despite the early hour, roaring with activity, town preparing for both the tournament and the noble wedding taking place the next day. “For what I know, they’re evenly matched.”

Lissete laughs and holds his hand tighter. “I think you want Sir Erhardt to win.” Then she gives him a coy glance.

Olberic shakes his head. For a child, she’s pretty observant. “May I ask why you think so, Your Highness?”

“Because he’s your friend and friends want each other to be happy.” She smiles warmly, showing him her little white teeth.

Olberic can’t help but smile himself. “You are a maid of great wisdom, my lady.”

 

King Alfred and his beloved queen Patrizia stay true to their words and join them beside bride and groom on the regal grandstand before the match. Olberic stands aside just like one of his brothers at arms. Princess Lissete holds onto her grandfather’s hand with excitement as both challengers make it to the arena. Paying close attention to his surroundings, Olberic hears a few noblemen placing their bets for the match, great sums of money he would never have thought about before joining the King’s Guard beside his friend. Both contenders pay their respects to the Gods and to their king before meeting each other down in the arena.

The crowd roars and Olberic is thankful Lissane’s little brother decided to stay far from the tournament; the poor thing would cry for sure. However, as the horses pick up speed, his attention goes back to the match before him. Heavy hooves hit wet dust from morning dew as they charge. He cannot see Erhardt’s face but he’s sure his gaze is flaring and focused, eyes steady on his target. They both ride with unsettling speed. They break seven spears through the match, turning and charging once more and once more… Before High Princess Tibelde dismounts Erhardt with a strong strike on the center of his chest, throwing him off the horse. Her Highness gets out of the horse and helps him to his feet, congratulating him on the fair exhausting match.

Olberic can tell Erhardt is content with his performance despite losing by the way he smiles warmly when Tibelde crowns her daughter with an indigo crown of knapweeds. He smiles back with a short nod.

On their way back, Lady Lissete holds his hand once more. “I want to ride a horse as well as Mother. And I want to be as fast as Sir Erhardt. And I want to be as strong as you too, Sir Olberic.” She’s only eight years old but Olberic can tell she’ll be all of that and much more. He also wants her to be kind and wise, a fair and just leader to her people, for she will be queen one day.

 

“Ugh, why can’t we just wear our armor? We are still on duty.” Erhardt complains as Olberic brushes his hair carefully, sharing a bathtub. They’re sharing a room, the King’s Guard always working in pairs. However, no one told them not to share this too. There are lots of things he and Erhardt share that no one ever told them to.

“Stop complaining, would you?” Olberic shakes his head. “Let’s get out. We have to get ready.”

“Okay. Let’s get this over with quickly…” Erhardt turns around and gives Olberic a quick peck at the corner of his mouth, sitting between his legs. Then he stands up and leaves the cooling tub, Olberic openly staring at him from behind without a trace of shame. Erhardt wrings out his hair atop of Olberic’s head and laughs cheerfully. Erhardt dries himself quickly and sits on a plain chair they have in their shared room, scissors in hand.

As soon as Olberic steps out, he throws the towel at him. “We’ve been asked to join the ceremony, Erhardt. You could at least try to enjoy it.” They’ll be busy, but they have explicit orders to mingle with the guests.

They keep arguing as Erhardt trims his hair. Then they shift and Erhardt begins to get dressed as Olberic shaves. “I’m lucky I can’t even grow a beard.” Erhardt laughs as he dries his hair.

“Why so?” Olberic expects some snarky remark.

“I wouldn’t have the patience to shave everyday.”

“That’s because you don’t have patience at all.” Erhardt pokes at him for that and he can’t blame him. They get dressed pretty fast and Olberic won’t tell him but he thoroughly enjoys the sight of his partner in finer, more fitting clothes. Something tells him he doesn’t need to speak his mind for him to know. By the time they’re done, Erhardt’s hair is finally dry. It took them less time than they thought. Olberic runs his fingers through Erhardt’s hair. “I want to braid it.”

He does so often so Erhardt doesn’t complain. Instead, he takes Olberic’s hand tenderly and guides him to the chair as he sits on the floor before him. Actually, the truth is that Erhardt barely knows how braid his hair, most of the time it’s Olberic who does it for him. Olberic brushes his hair carefully, never pulling on it or hurting him even once. He braids his hair quietly in a complicated pattern, some of his nieces would have called it a ‘princess braid’ and, now that he can tell from experience, he knows Her Highness Lissete would want one of them as soon as she laid eyes on his partner.

“You’re thinking too loud.” Erhardt laughs at him but once his work is done, Olberic can’t help but shake his head and stare. He did a good job - but it was easy, since Erhardt is already beautiful by his own means.

 

Olberic wasn’t wrong. Lissete is frantic, running around, asking weird questions neither them nor her retainers can quite answer. She asks Erhardt how he did his hair and, to her regal mother’s amusement, asks him to explain to her little brother what happens in a wedding.

“Please, Sir. He’s never been to a wedding and I fear my lady mother couldn’t keep it simple enough, he’s so young…”

“I’m not sure, Your Highness…” Because he probably isn’t the best person to talk about such a thing. Then Lissete looks at him with huge doe-like eyes and her lady mother nods. Erhardt turns awkwardly to the shy child walking beside his much taller mother. “The couple walks into the chapel. There have to be at least a few witnesses and a representative of the faith… They make a vow to the Gods and then blow out the twelve candles.” Erhardt stays quiet and looks back at Olberic, unsure. “I think I missed something with a cloth there…”

High Princess Tibelde chuckles quietly, her son’s tiny hand on hers. She’s almost as tall as Olberic. “Minimalist lecture. I like it.” Her teasing turns out good-natured.

“Sir, I should tell you that was the least exciting thing I have heard in the whole day and I had sewing lessons earlier.” She says quietly, leaving the three adults in shock. Neither of them talk for a while.

“I personally think sewing is enjoyable, Your Highness.” Both lady Lissete and Erhardt give Olberic a wary look after saying that.

“Sewing is useful.” The High Princess states, always a peacekeeper, settling the issue.

 

They stand guard near the gates of the chapel, another couple of guards keeping an eye on the front entrance. From there they can barely hear the words of the cleric officiating the wedding and the couple’s vows sound hazy and unclear but Olberic can make out a few words. Erhardt stands beside him, paying attention to their surroundings. This wedding settles a crucial military arrangement between their main providers of both food and weapons. Also, both parties used to be suitors for the king’s younger children. With them off the market, if the need arose, they both could wed into another arrangement to finally end the war. The more Olberic thinks about that, the sadder it feels. He’s lucky he’ll never have to do such a thing himself. It must be horrible to sell your own children to establish your people’s safety.

High Princess Tibelde was lucky. During her many journeys, she met a merchant prince, one of those great merchants and travelers who owns his own fleet, richer and more adventurous than any other lowborn could ever dream to be. They engaged into an extreme kind of competitive friendship and later on they married. He now sits in the council as Master of Ships. If apart they’re two forces to be feared, when they’re together, they are unstoppable. Olberic can sort of understand her, as he also has someone he wishes he could marry out of rivalry.

The young couple kiss and Olberic can see the king lending his queen his hand to help her stand up, legs shaking lightly from her poor health. They were paired long years ago out of need but their care of one another is always in plain sight. They understand the other’s needs and work together on them. Olberic wishes he could learn how to do such a thing better.

During the celebration that evening, Olberic realizes how young the couple is. Many men and women alike have died during the war, forcing their offspring to take care of responsibilities no one had ever prepared them for. They’re on their own, without anyone truly trustworthy to guide them. Olberic thinks about himself when he first joined the army, years ago. That was a hasty decision. However, nine years later, he knows he would do it again. It may be harsh but Olberic clings to the feeling of knowing how many lives he had saved throughout the years and the ones he would in the years to come. He clings to that thought and tries to dispel the less pleasing ones.

As members of the Guard, they sit at the low table right beneath the main one; close to the couple, their families and the regents. It takes Olberic about two hours to be sure the bride is more collected than her husband. She talks in a pleasing careful manner, always smiling softly, even if it’s one of those smiles with the lips but eyes hard, as steel noblewomen learn to make early in their lives. She does most of the talking. Once they receive their wedding presents, she nods slightly, thanking their guest and placing her hand on her husband’s, seeking his approval too. Olberic feels bad for them. He doesn’t know much of how things should be, but for his liking, couples that age should never worry about symbolizing anything political. They should share honeybuns, licking each other’s fingers in disgusting displays of public affection and talk about petting stray cats. Their only worries should be not getting caught skinny dipping in a pond in the countryside alone at night. However, Olberic is not one to talk, since their main worry when they were that age was actually staying alive.

At the high table, King Alfred rises to his feet, goblet in hand. With a small nod from the newlywed couple, he begins talking. He talks about the great honor they bring to their houses, about the unity of Hornburg and its people in times of need. He talks about the hope it brings him to see young people around him determined to succeed for their own future and those they love. King Alfred even talks about the long years that await the young couple once future days of peace finally come. Olberic watches as both his queen and his eldest smile, the first peacefully and the second one proudly, at him. King Alfred raises his goblet once again and so do all the guests. “Tonight we drink! To the newlyweds! To Hornburg! To those future days of peace!" Beside Olberic, Erhardt shifts uncomfortably but tonight they all drink.

Not long afterwards, the music grows louder and the couple finally rises from their seats. The first dance is theirs alone. Usually, the King and Queen would join them for the second one, but Queen Patrizia’s health has been dropping considerably in the last few years and now she can barely walk for more than five minutes without help. The slightest movement leaves her breathless, heart aching inside her chest and too-thin legs shaking. So King Alfred dances instead with his daughter and heir. They’re all watching when the Queen and her courtiers approach them at the low table. She looks at them spinning in the large hall beside the newlyweds, smiling peacefully.

“Sir Erhardt, would you escort me to the musicians? I fear I am no longer suited for dancing but it would be rude of me to dismiss myself so early.” She used to be beautiful in her youth but difficult pregnancies and many illnesses have left her weak and thin, a rather small thing close to her own daughter. She looks like she would weigh as much as a feather.

Erhardt nods quietly and rises to his feet in one swift motion. “Of course, Your Majesty.” Without further notice, she takes his arm and leans on him as they walk away to join the musicians. The Queen enjoys playing as much or maybe more than Erhardt, since it’s one of the few things she can do now without having to ask for a short rest every five minutes. Olberic thinks that even if she’s taller than him, Erhardt makes her look skinny and ill. Her skin looks too pale and breakable, formerly bright red hair now greying further day by day. Sad wrinkles cross all around her face, her eyes are dulling with age… Erhardt, right beside her, looks glorious and golden, gallant. That’s a painful comparison to make.

Couples come and go from the dance floor and the King and the heir sit back. Olberic stands behind them, always close. From up there, he can easily pay attention to the whole hall. That’s the safest spot to be. He can actually see Queen Patrizia playing, enjoying the small feeling of freedom it brings her. Olberic is keeping an eye out when he feels a small shy tug on his sleeve. When he looks down, he stares at Her Highness Lissete looking at him with the biggest eyes he’s ever seen. Olberic kneels to be face to face with her.

“Do you need something, Your Highness?” She lets go of his sleeve and takes a step back, looking at him.

She nods. “Yes, Sir. I would like to dance.” Olberic blinks dumbfounded. She is much more confident than any other child Olberic has ever met. “Would you be my partner?” Lady Lissete asks as soon as she notices she wasn’t asking anything before, but she’s practically giving him a straightforward order.

Olberic glances at her lady mother briefly, looking for her permission, and once it’s granted Olberic nods respectfully. “I would love to.”

Olberic isn’t fully on his feet when he’s being pulled by his wrist off the high table. Olberic thinks he can understand why her mother prefers someone looking out for her right now. She has too much energy. Olberic takes the princess’s tiny hands in his and she grins openly. “You are as tall as Mother.” Maybe a few inches more, but Lissete doesn’t complain as Olberic leads her. Dancing with a child is quite different than dancing with an adult. It doesn’t feel intimate but it’s somehow like playing a game. He takes her hands and she tries to spin the fastest she can. She laughs happily, more than content avoiding being dismissed off to bed for a while longer because she’s dancing. Olberic indulges her in those little harmless whims. Royalty or not, Lissete is nothing but a child after all.

They dance for a while until Olberic feels someone gently tapping at his shoulder. “Mother!” Lissete is suddenly off of him and hugging her mother’s waist. The heiress caresses her daughter’s hair lovingly and greets Olberic with a short polite nod. She’s nearly as tall as him, with an athletic build from a whole life’s worth of fighting and traveling; her braid reaching well past her hips. Many worship her but Olberic is almost used to seeing another kinder side of the High Princess, just like right now.

“I fear it is well past your bedtime.” That’s all it takes for Lissete to look up to her with huge shiny eyes - she is nearly begging her. “However, given the situation, I will turn the other way just for a while longer.” She smiles softly as her daughter tiptoes to kiss her on the cheek. “Now go to your grandmother.” And Lady Lissete is nearly running, making her way for the Queen. Olberic stares at her, wide-eyed. “Do not worry about her. She is with the Queen and Sir Erhardt.” As soon as she says so, Olberic breathes in deeply, more calm. “Sir Olberic, I have a request for you, if you would like.” She isn’t looking at him, but keeping an eye on her daughter as she tries to sit still between the Queen and Erhardt. Both of them know she’s too lively for that and it won’t take her long to drag Erhardt to the dance floor. “Would you dance with me, Sir?”

Olberic can’t find his voice for a while so he nods shyly. Eventually, he breathes once the shock is gone and nods once again, more confidently. “I would love to.”

Tibelde smiles lightly and offers him her hands. “Would you mind being the weaver for a while?” Olberic understands her as a tall person. It’s been years since the last time he could be the spinner without having some serious technical issues. Olberic nods, he doesn’t mind at all. “You are so very kind, Sir.”

Her hands are harsh from fighting and horseriding but Olberic has been leading for many years and they could do much worse. Their feet move slowly, still catching up to the tune and the odd waves of her silk gown distract Olberic for a short while. Lady Tibelde is not used to being led in the ballroom, her moves draw Olberic closer and she’s leading the path somehow. When she spins in her toes, her long braid curls around her like a fire serpent bursting alive.

Suddenly, as the song’s pace quickens, Lady Tibelde shifts her weight and she’s the weaver now. Olberic barely has a second or two to react but he shakes his head with a quiet chuckle as he spins around. He hasn’t done this in many years. She leads him naturally, as if it was easy. Olberic feels light, of all the things he could feel. He thinks that it’s a stupid thought, for he is far from light.

From his current position, he can’t see Erhardt being dragged to the dance floor by an overexcited child, being mildly encouraged by the Queen herself. Erhardt’s braid is gone and he pleases Lissete the best he can. However, neither of them could see their scheme. Once the music hits a high note, close to the end, Lissete spots her mother close to them and, along with the flow of people around them, they exchange partners.

The music is already dying when they meet once more. They stop right in their tracks, close to crashing into one another. As Erhardt and Olberic stare quietly at each other, the crowd claps loudly, already asking for the next song. Olberic sees Erhardt gulp as a new song begins playing in the background. Neither of them move for a while, not until the drums start playing and Erhardt is pushed ‘by accident’ by Lady Lissete, almost throwing him atop of Olberic, who catches him quickly.

It triggers something inside Olberic and he roars with laughter. “Come on!” He’s taking Erhardt’s hands in his as Erhardt stares, mouth open ajar in disbelief. Olberic wouldn’t usually be that affectionate in public but, given the circumstances, there isn’t a best time to be. At first they move uncoordinated, taking short awkward steps as they fall into sort of a rhythm. Suddenly, Erhardt opens his eyes wide and, before Olberic has time to ask, he watches as Erhardt whispers the words quietly.

_Oh, girl, like apple blush._   
_They say you were born from an orange._   
_I wasn't born from an orange._   
_My mother gave birth to me on the mountains._

Olberic leads them, successfully avoiding crashing into the other couples. He was right from the beginning: Erhardt can complain as much as he wants to about not wearing his usual armor, but Olberic is more than happy to see him in such clothes. It would be uncomfortable to dance in armor anyway. Olberic likes his hair better when loose, since he can see it swing as he spins gracefully, light as a feather.

Erhardt dances like he fights: moving in close circles, never resting to let his partner think about his next move, piercing Olberic with his eyes. Olberic isn’t sure if he likes fighting with him because it feels like dancing or if he likes dancing with him because it feels like fighting. Erhardt does a lot of things like he’s fighting, fiery and focused on the task at hand. Sometimes, such a thing is breathtaking but when a task requires a more careful, kind approach, it goes overboard. No one wants to see Erhardt beheading the innocent corpse of a chicken. Erhardt’s hair flies around as he dances and it tickles Olberic’s nose, sending him back to reality.

_The northern wind was my cradle,_   
_It was lulling me into the sea._   
_The fishermen caught me in their nets._   
_They gave me to Catherine the pale._

They have been getting a bit reckless, more than they should. Olberic notices just in time there are a few kids playing close, way too close. Erhardt has his eyes closed and he’s breathless; now he’s moving by sheer momentum. That’s precisely when one of the children decides to run close to them so Olberic thinks fast. He lifts Erhardt off the ground with one arm as the kid runs under him. Erhardt opens his eyes wide and Olberic lives for the shock on his face for that short second before his feet touch the ground once more and he keeps dancing.

“Showoff!” Erhardt laughs his lungs out at him but Olberic has never been happier.

_Catherine was a good woman_   
_So he raised me in the villa_   
_With white bread and red wine_   
_With white bread and red wine._

Once the music ends, Erhardt is holding on his upper arms for dear life, stilling himself. They both feel hazy and intoxicated from the heavy atmosphere around them. They dance just a few, thank the Gods, slower songs before they make it back to where the musicians are playing. It’s easy to spot Her Highness Lissete nearly falling asleep sitting beside the Queen as she plays softly. The High Princess is standing close, keeping a watchful eye on both of them. She nods at them as a greeting and steps forward once she realizes her daughter is almost asleep.

She kneels on the floor beside her and gently pats her shoulder. “It is well past your bedtime, little lady.” Lissete groans softly, clinging closer to her grandmother’s legs. “Sir Erhardt, Sir Olberic, are you bold enough to escort such an unruly child to her room?” That catches her attention, at least a bit of it. She’s mostly conscious by now.

Erhardt bows his head in respect. “If you consider us worthy of being tasked with such a great quest, we shall not fail you.” He’s still catching his breath so his voice sounds hoarser than usual. His legs aren’t shaking now but they were just a few minutes ago. Olberic himself isn’t in a much better condition.

“You shall be dismissed afterwards.” She takes her daughter’s hands in hers and helps her to her feet. Then she kisses her head and the Queen kisses her cheek from her chair. Lissete kisses them both goodnight, half-asleep, and takes Olberic’s hand.

“May the Gods guide your path.” The Queen’s words sound solemn even if she’s teasing. Truth be told, she often has that effect on people.

They leave the main hall shortly afterwards. Lady Tibelde’s youngest had already been set to bed a long time ago and Lissete has responsibilities, not many but she does. The farther they walk, the more awake she seems. She isn’t as talkative as this morning but that’s a given, considering she’s been running around the whole evening.

They reach a small courtyard inside the palace on their way to her bedroom. “I like those!” Lissete points at one of the many bushes of gardenia. “They are everywhere here.” She stops right beside it and is leans in closer, still holding Olberic’s hand. “The bride was carrying these too, right?”

Erhardt kneels by her side and helps her pick one of the smallest flowers. “Gardenia are heavily linked to weddings in literature and often picked as a decoration for them.” Lissete nods once she sees a bud she especially likes.

“Why so? How can someone decide if a flower is for weddings or for births? This flower says ‘I’m sorry’ but that flower says ‘Your nose is hilarious’ and they look nearly identical!” Lissete frowns at the plant. Erhardt has been too serious for Olberic’s liking for most of the evening, but Lady Lissete’s words set him laughing loud and clear, almost roaring. Olberic chuckles beside them too and Lissete looks from one to the other confused. “Did I say something funny?”

Once Erhardt manages to breathe again, he shakes his head. “Actually, that was an interesting point, Your Highness. I fear I am not well-read enough to engage in such a deep discussion though. Might you ever forgive me?”

Lady Lissete gives him a wary look for a short second but she smiles warmly and gently tucks the flower behind Erhardt’s ear. Olberic can’t help but stare and Erhardt himself blinks quickly in shock. “Only if you take my hand as well, Sir.”

Erhardt rises to his feet quickly and offers her his hand with a small bow. “As you command.”

She takes it, excited. Now, holding both of them, she looks up. “Could you swing me now?” Lissete asks them, knowing well she’ll get what she wants.

Erhardt gives him a pleading look. Olberic nods and they’re holding her tight. Lissete holds into them for dear life and closes her eyes as she laughs when her feet are off the ground. She is strong for her age and swings her legs in the air, trying to go faster, as if she was on an actual swing. Olberic sees Erhardt’s joyful face when he picked him up earlier that night in the way she laughs. When she opens her eyes and her feet touch the floor, Erhardt is smiling softly, so soft Olberic almost doesn’t notice.

They walk to her room and Olberic shakes his head when she yawns. “I want to ride a horse as well as Mother. And I want to be as fast as you, Sir Erhardt. And I want to be as strong as you too, Sir Olberic.” She’s fast asleep not even two minutes after that.

Erhardt and Olberic stare at each other once they close the door. Olberic can’t tear his eyes off the white flower in his hair and he isn’t being subtle at all. How could he? They stay still for too long, like fools.

Erhardt is actually the first to speak. He clears his throat and talks quietly, always careful to avoid being heard by prying ears. “I’ll go first. Follow me after a few minutes.” However, he doesn’t walk away yet.

“Why?” It doesn’t make sense. “We share quarters, there is nothing wrong with walking there together.”

Erhardt looks at him, piercing him with his gaze. “Not our quarters.” His voice is slightly more than a whisper. “The gardenia. I’ll see you by the gardenia.” He leaves as soon as the words are out, taking long quick steps along the hallway. It takes every drop of Olberic’s self-control not to run after him. Soon. Erhardt has been gloomy and distracted for most of the day and Olberic isn’t going to deny him the few healthy whims he has from time to time, when he allows himself to. Soon he’ll see him by the gardenia. Whatever that means.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to @wintershiny on tumblr for her help!
> 
> I'm actually not quite happy with this one, I can't really tell why but I'm posting it anyway.  
> Percival is a great group and I encourage you to take a look at their work. Beside Talisk, they're my default writing music.  
> Next chapter is pretty long too, I hope you enjoy these long updates. Feedback is appreciated so don't be shy.
> 
> Finally, thank all of you for reading!


	9. Big God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Tonight is one of those nights when one of their mates starts singing shyly, trying to get the whole group to follow along. He is surprisingly successful even if Erhardt keeps quiet beside them. Gustav has never heard that song. Not that he pays much attention to such things, but he thought himself to be more observant than that. Gustav sits there, listening closely as Erhardt suddenly stands to clean their dishes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Hands of Gold (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UyxMHWizWUk)  
> Tags: pre-game, one-sided Gustav/Erhardt, kind of TCing, singing, kind of minor character death, Gustav's POV, wrongly presumed heterosexuality, worshipping.
> 
> This one is rather long too. I hope you enjoy it.

“That’s a fully grown warmare, Sir. Not some newly born foal who needs pampering.” Gustav shakes his head as his master braids his mare’s hair carefully. Poor Nadette is getting older day by day. She is a sweet thing for an animal who has seen so much blood.

“Don’t listen to him, he’s just angry you won’t let him pet you without treats.” Erhardt chuckles softly.

They will be back on the road early in the morning tomorrow, off to wherever the wind and the money carry them. Between nasty works, Gustav enjoys this little peaceful time on the road. It is just a few of them but they stick together, mostly because most of them only have each other. He likes sitting with his brothers-in-arms as they sharpen their weapons, tend to their horses and sing by the crackling campfire. Gods above, even Gaston’s snoring has come to be reassuring.

Someone laughs loudly by the campfire. “Sire, how can you know how to skin a rabbit but suck so much at actual cooking?” Then there’s a slightly disgusting damp slap when Erhardt throws the recently skinned fur to his face. “Gross!”

“You were rude before.” Erhardt sits beside Gustav with his arms crossed. He dislikes being told that he’s probably the worst cook they’ve ever met, even if it is nothing but the truth.

Gustav nudges his side as the stew gets served. “Have you ever been told you are actually pretty childish for a knight?”

Erhardt pulls on his ear softly, as if he was a misbehaving child. “Have you ever been told you are too cocky for a child?” He sure knows how to annoy him.

“A child? Sir, I am twenty and eight!” Gustav doesn’t mind falling into his provocation, he doesn’t mind his brothers laughing at him either. This is the way things are supposed to be.

Sir Erhardt grins widely as their companions laugh. “My dear pupil, everyone under thirty is like a child to me now.”

“Oh, thanks. You are the worst father I have ever had.”

Gustav is getting his first spoonful of stew when Gaston shakes his head. “Isn’t that already the first prize?” Gustav chokes on a piece of meat and almost throws his wooden spoon right at Gaston’s stupid grinning face as their mates crack up as though they’ve gone mad. Sir Erhardt beside him hugs his legs and hides his face in his knees.

They eat and tell stories by the fire. Gustav likes closing his eyes and trying to picture them as the storyteller speaks. He especially enjoys it when it’s Sir Erhardt’s turn; he is the most experienced of them. He doesn’t sing too often but when he does, Gustav finds himself sleeping more restfully, breath going even after a few minutes.

_For she was his secret treasure_  
_She was his shame and bliss_  
_And a chain and a keep are nothing_  
_Compared to a woman's kiss_

_For hands of gold are always cold_  
_But a woman's hands are warm_  
_For hands of gold are always cold_  
_But a woman's hands are warm_

_For hands of gold are always cold_  
_But a woman's hands are..._

Tonight is one of those nights when one of their mates starts singing shyly, trying to get the whole group to follow along. He is surprisingly successful even if Erhardt keeps quiet beside them. Gustav has never heard that song. Not that he pays much attention to such things, but he thought himself to be more observant than that. Gustav sits there, listening closely as Erhardt suddenly stands to clean their dishes.

Gustav shoots him a worried look from afar and the barely-starting song dies a sudden death, almost as fast as it began. “Is something wrong?” No one answers. Gustav isn’t having any of that. “I have never heard that song before.”

One of their eldest laughs at him. “I’d be worried if you had, lad.” Gustav gives him a puzzled look and the man leans closer, as if he is telling him a secret. “Actually, he wrote it.”

Gustav stares at him as if he had grown a second head and a few of them laugh at him. His face must have been priceless; even though he knows Erhardt is capable of both playing and composing, what shocks him is knowing that he wrote those lyrics. Maybe it was a request, since he spent long years living close to nobility. However, Gustav doubts he would take such requests, especially considering his role as a knight.

_He rode through the streets of the city_  
_Down from his hill on high_  
_O'er the winds and the steps and the cobble_  
_He rode to a woman's side_

_For she was his secret treasure_  
_She was his shame and bliss_  
_And a chain and a keep are nothing_  
_Compared to a woman's kiss_

Gustav can’t get the thought out of his head for days. Erhardt didn’t write the song for some noble; no noble would consciously go and reveal themselves to be in a dishonorable relationship like that. That must have meant he either wrote about someone he met or-

Gustav slows down his pitch black horse, falling back to the end of the marching column, from where Erhardt keeps a watchful eye on all of them. He often can feel him looking for their backs as they travel. Neither of them are good at all in small talk so they stay deathly silent for a while until Gustav makes up his mind.

“How was she?”

Erhardt blinks, dumbfounded. “Beg your pardon?” Erhardt turns to look at him in shock. He keeps his calm though, at least more of it than Gustav thought.

“Your paramour.” Erhardt looks at him in disbelief and Gustav raises his shoulders. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you didn’t actually write those words ‘for a friend’ or an acquaintance, did you?” Gustav looks at him. Maybe he overstepped, but Erhardt would tell him if he was annoyed right away.

The knight takes a few minutes to voice his words properly and even so they seem shaky at first. “Is.” Erhardt looks at the road before them without a trace of feeling. “Too stubborn to die.”

Gustav smiles lightly. He can’t even picture what sort of woman his master had ever been so infatuated with he actually wrote about her. “Why don’t you go see her some time?” If he keeps singing that song, it must mean something.

Erhardt blinks in astonishment. Then he shakes his head with a quiet, bitter laugh. “I fear I wouldn’t be warmly greeted even if I knew where I should go.” He stares down the road before them, running his fingers through Nadette’s hair. The mare leans into his hand tenderly. Their master is always so kind to her, way kinder than he is to anyone else. Gustav craves for his approval just as the old mare craves for the small pieces of apple he treats her with from time to time.

He looks at his master for a while, focusing on the pleasant sound of hooves against the road. “Why so?” He feels stupid as soon as the words leave his mouth.

However, his teacher isn’t an irascible man so he speaks softly. “You already know what I did.” Gustav knows indeed and it pains him. He knows Erhardt enough to understand he neither wants nor needs his pity though.

She must be a loyal woman to her country then, for her to not be at peace with what her partner did. Gustav knows he can’t even begin to understand the pain that comes from realizing the one you loved was lying all along, dishonest from the very beginning. “She used to be a noblewoman then?” That would explain her dislike of him and her unknown location; having to hide ever since.

Sir Erhardt frowns lightly, lips pressing in a thin line. However, he keeps his voice low and composed. “This isn’t an old tale of a lady and her knight and I promise you it does not end like one of those either.” Erhardt straightens his back and turns to look at Gustav. “Come on, I do not want to lose sight of the group.”

He spurs Nadette on the sides and the mare falls into a faster trot. Gustav follows him without question, for Erhardt knows better than him.

_For hands of gold are always cold_  
_But a woman's hands are warm_  
_For hands of gold are always cold_  
_But a woman's hands are warm_

_For hands of gold are always cold_  
_But a woman's hands are warm_  
_For hands of gold are always cold_  
_But a woman's hands are warm_

_Oh, hands of gold_  
_Oh, hands of gold_  
_Oh, hands of gold_  
_Oh, hands of gold_

Winter in the Frostlands is unforgiving and harsh. They march until the sun goes down and set off before dawn. They don’t have much privacy in their tents; not sleeping in pairs anymore, as now at least three of them are inside each one. They crowd together as much as they can. Gustav wakes up feeling like dying. He looks up to find his master already changing into his winter clothes, looking pale as a ghost.

“I told you not to sleep in your day clothes. Now you’ll get temperature shock.” Erhardt scolds him weakly, as if he was a child, as he picks up his heavy parka. Even inside the tent, his breath condensates in a warm white mist as he talks.

Erhardt is right. His master helps him put his scarf on and Gustav thinks that were the weather warmer, he could cry in pain when Erhardt’s fingers brush lightly against his neck. He is so cold that Gustav is worried he might be ill.

Fortunately for all of them, they reach a village by the next evening. They shake the snow out of their clothes before getting inside the tavern. Gustav doesn’t mind sharing his table with strangers, not irritated by the loud noise around him. He is slightly annoyed that there is no mead though. However, as he tightly holds his cup of warm wine with cinnamon, he feels at ease. A storm is coming and none of them want to be on the road once it fully hits the Frostlands. They will stay for a few days before carrying on with their journey.

Sitting by the large fireplace, Erhardt plays his lute and the noise around them grows quieter. He does this often to avoid paying the full price of their stay. Owners hardly ever complain about wandering musicians playing in their inns: it attracts more customers and gives the dining hall a more peaceful air. A few of their men hum to the tune as he sings his song from far away in Hornburg. By the fire, his eyes shine brightly and his cheeks are tinted red. Maybe Gustav was right, maybe he is indeed ill.

Hornburg was plagued by mountains and caves, valleys, rocky paths and high gorges. Its cities shaped by hills and narrow streets. He is golden. From his shoulder pads, to his sword’s hilt, to his vambraces, to his hair and his cold hands. If Gustav closes his eyes, he isn’t in that forsaken inn up in the north of Orsterra anymore, but drinking brown mead with his peers in a Hornburgian stone tavern, the streets covered in soft mountain’s mist.

However, as he listens to his master he does not think of soft warm hands. Gustav is always paying attention to his master, even when he isn’t teaching anything; at least not consciously doing so. He stays still, eyes fixed on his teacher. Erhardt opens his eyes slowly as he sings and looks around the crowded room with half-lidded eyes. Even his eyelashes are golden, though Gustav can’t truly tell from so far. He doesn’t even glance at him.

That night, he keeps an eye on him, just like Sir Erhardt often does for them on the road. He enjoys taking requests to sing and drinking as if he had a bottomless well for a stomach. His master doesn’t enjoy it so much when young maids flock around him, trying to get his attention. He tries to dismiss them as politely as he can or gets one of their companions to annoy them effectively as soon as possible.

At first Gustav laughs at his awkwardness; he had always been like that, not even for a night he would yield. Gustav wonders and is really stupid for doing so, nothing good can come out of it. Despite his best attempts to avoid doing so, he can’t help it. His teacher knows so little beside the way of the sword, that of marching alongside with friends and strangers alike, off to a nearly certain death day after day. In a life like that, there is little time for the gentle distraction of warm hands. Even if he sings of them like he longs for them, he would not accept them if offered. Gustav knows him well enough to understand that Erhardt doesn’t like playing games unless there’s an obvious profit from doing so. So the hands he is offered are not those he longs for.

_He rode through the streets of the city_  
_Down from his hill on high_  
_O'er the winds and the steps and the cobble_  
_He rode to a woman's side_

_For she was his secret treasure_  
_She was his shame and bliss_  
_And a chain and a keep are nothing_  
_Compared to a woman's kiss_

Gaston leaves them before spring comes. He is off to do something of his own - he still doesn’t know what. Erhardt pulls him aside for a while and Gustav watches them from afar as Erhardt rests his hand on his shoulder, giving him a reassuring pat. “You shall be fine.” Then he unsheathes his old Hornburgian sword and hands it to Gaston. The large man stares at their master as if he was Brand himself come to this world. He kneels suddenly and whispers something Gustav can’t quite make out. Erhardt tells him to stand on his feet and he helps him up. There isn’t a hug but Gaston takes his sword and that is more than Gustav could have ever asked for, more than what he would be willing to accept. Neither of them are worthy. However, it was a gift. That night Gustav realizes he would never ask his master for anything he hadn’t tried to give to him willingly before.

The next time Gustav gathers up the courage to ask him, it is drizzling softly over them. The mud is moist and soft against the horses’ hooves and the fresh water on his skin is somehow relaxing. They are once again at the back of the marching column. Erhardt’s hair is damp from the light rain, sticking to his forehead and his neck. Even Nadette’s mane looks funny under the rain. Her fur has gone clearer with age, almost white at some patches.

“What is he like?” He looks at the road quietly.

“Who?” Erhardt hums, not paying him much mind.

Gustav doesn’t answer for a short while so he listens to the soft rain on the cobbled path. “Your paramour.” His teacher goes deadly quiet by his side and straightens his back uncomfortably. However, Erhardt doesn’t deny it. He just keeps quiet. “No one else knows.” At least he didn’t go around telling everyone he thinks that his master fancies men. Erhardt nods beside him, still quiet. “I figured out some months ago.” Or more like he’s been figuring it out during those said months.

“Thank you for…being so cautious.” His master nods lightly at him. Gustav knows he is a private man and he respects it. “He is-” Erhardt frowns, deep in thought. “He is the best knight I have ever met and that I ever will.”

Gustav stares at his teacher as though he had gone mad. The best knight. The best knight is right before him and no one could ever match him. Erhardt feels he isn’t content enough with his answer.

“He is…” Erhardt gives it another try. “He almost made me lose sight of my quest.” Words don’t come easy. Gustav knows his quest was everything to his master, or so he thought until now.

That was his shame that had come to light: to both his persona and his true self. “Was it worth it?” Gustav himself doesn’t know what is he exactly asking.

By his side, Sir Erhardt nods. “I think I would have gone mad either way. It kept me with both feet on the ground. Not everything was bad back then.” He doesn’t speak of his days as a knight often, but when he does, Gustav can tell he is as bitter as he is longing. “Made me better: faster, stronger, more perceptive of both myself and others. I owe him much.” He speaks about him as an equal and Gustav bows his head in respect for he knows years might go by and he’ll always be his pupil; barely more than a child to him despite the slight age difference.

Neither of them speak for a long while. Gustav had heard his name long before actually meeting the man but, when Hornburg stood tall, his name never was on its own. The Twin Blades of Hornburg. Gustav doesn’t have to ask who this man was, that made him better, faster and stronger. He thinks he already knows. Erhardt probably doesn’t need to be asked either.

He does wonder though, unsure if he could actually be on his level. He heard the Unbending Blade died when Hornburg fell but Gustav trusts Erhardt more than any gossiping housemaid he had ever met. “What did-” Gustav shakes his head and whispers a quiet apology. “What does he look like?”

His master smiles beside him, eyes half-lidded, trying his best to remember. Erhardt sighs and he doesn’t stutter as he finally speaks. “Like Brand.”

Gustav stares at him, stunned and mouth open ajar. That is the most blasphemous thing he has ever heard Erhardt say, yet there isn’t a single trace of regret in his face. Quite the contrary. He is smiling lightly, relieved of finally being able to talk about this with someone else. Gustav can’t quite believe him. He doesn’t know the Unbending Blade but the only idol of Brand he can picture is the man before him, golden and great, fearful and beautiful. Breathing the same air as him makes his lungs burn from the inside. They were a force to be reckoned with on their own and they stood unconquerable above them all together. So what is a god to another god then? If his master tells him he is indeed just like he says, he could not be wrong.

He is back to himself with a fresh breeze of the wind against his face. He should say something or at least try doing so. “So he is an eleven foot tall statue made of green and black marble?” Erhardt opens his eyes wide and laughs like there is no tomorrow. Gustav feels proud of himself.

They keep a companionable silence between them as they ride, a light meaningless comment here and there but little of interest. Gustav can tell some of the heavy weight on Erhardt’s shoulders had lifted as they spoke and he feels he doesn’t deserve such trust.

It takes a while longer before Erhardt speaks once again. “Gustav, might I ask you a favor?”

There is no way in Earth he could deny him. “You might ask of me whatever you need.”

His master frowns, looking at their companions far down the road. “Please, do not tell them. They don’t need to know.”

Gustav stares at him, Erhardt looks serious. “Why?” He also looks at their backs. “I won’t but I want to know why.” His teacher doesn’t answer, there is no need for him to do so. “I don’t think they would care if they knew. And what if they did? They wouldn’t dare tell you so.” Gustav feels his master’s eyes sinking into his skin, trying his best to analyze him. “Some say you are fearsome, Sir.” He smiles with more confidence than he feels.

Erhardt lowers his gaze and caresses Nadette’s wet mane. “Do you think I am?” Gustav doesn’t know how to answer him, what could please him. He takes too long. Sir Erhardt shakes his head and smiles faintly. “No, don’t answer. You don’t need to.” And so he doesn’t.

_For hands of gold are always cold_  
_For she was his secret treasure_  
_For hands of gold are always cold_  
_And a chain and a keep are nothing_

_For hands of gold are always cold_  
_But a woman's hands are warm_  
_For hands of gold are always cold_  
_But a woman's hands are warm_

_Oh, hands of gold_  
_Oh, hands of gold_  
_Oh, hands of gold_  
_Oh, hands of gold_

Not even ten months later, Nadette’s health decreases considerably. She neighs in pain often and Erhardt can’t quite ride her anymore without fear that her legs would break. At the end, she can’t even recognize him. She gets violent and wild. Gustav thinks she knows she is dying but can’t understand what that means. They can’t keep going like that. After a week trying to do his best, Erhardt leaves for the stable and does whatever needs to be done to spare her as much suffering as he can, giving her a proper farewell.

Nadette used to be one of the last traces of Erhardt’s past in Hornburg so when she is gone, she takes a little bit of him with her. He barely speaks for a week and always refuses to ride with one of their mates. It doesn’t take long for him to decide it is his time to go too. When Gustav asks him where he is planning to go next, Erhardt shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe South. Somewhere where peaches grow earlier in the year.” And the air doesn’t remind him of home. Those words remain unspoken though.

The night before they part ways, Gustav joins him atop of the roof of the inn they are staying in. The boys insisted on throwing some celebration but now the common hall is too busy and loud for both of them. He finds Erhardt leaning on the railing, breathing peacefully. The late night breeze around them is too cold for his liking. Gustav stands beside him for a long while, neither of them speaking a single word.

“It doesn’t have to be like this, Sir.”

“My time here is over, I would do you no good by staying.” Gustav can’t understand him, it doesn’t make sense but it looks like his master has made up his mind. He nods respectfully.

“If that would make you happy, Sir, then go.” There’s no resentment in his voice.

Erhardt laughs quietly beside him, barely a whisper above the loud cheering coming from inside the inn. “I doubt so but it shall suffice.” He turns around to look right at his pupil for the first time of the whole evening.

It fills Gustav with pain to know his master thinks so little of himself, of his life. He wants to kneel just like Gaston did, ask for his forgiveness if there is something he has failed him in and beg him to stay but Erhardt wouldn’t like that, that would be taking more than he would offer. Instead of that, he stands quietly by his side, back straight and rigid until Erhardt steps closer and pulls him into a half-embrace with only one arm. “May the Gods guide your blade, brother.” Erhardt whispers with the calmness of a man that has been long dead and Gustav’s legs shake. That, that he is being offered. So he takes it.

He puts his arms around him in a tight, full-bodied hug. As Erhardt holds his shoulder, Gustav leans his head on his, taking a deep breath, drinking in the smell of his hair, his sweat and the dust of the road.

“May the Gods guide yours too, Sir.” He is the first to step back and, when he looks down into his master’s countenance, he is smiling.

“Gustav,” He hums quietly. “please, do good.”

And so he does. Once his master is gone, his time is close too. He quits the group in order to pursue the last order he was given, searching for a way he can wield his blade with honor. He finds his place in Victor’s Hollow, among his kind. Gustav is grateful for doing so, even today the words his master spoke to him years ago are proven true, and he overhears the Unbending Blade is trying to join the list. ‘Is. Too stubborn to die.’ He knows he would ask him exactly what he wants to do: to give his best, to let him know if he is defeated, to not get in their way. After all those years, when he falls to a god that is not green and black marble but flesh and bone just like him, Gustav finds peace in knowing he doesn’t feel compelled to protect his teacher. Pledged to him or not, a divinity of his kind does not need his protection. Though there is some anxiousness inside him, Gustav knows deep down he did what he had to do. And somewhere even deeper he knows it is not one, but both of them who are too stubborn to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to @wintershiny on tumblr for all of her work! I wouldn't be able to do any of this without her help!
> 
> Karliene's work is really important to me so I hope you enjoyed it as well!  
> Next one is much shorter but it'll be a short rest from this angst-fest.


	10. Alleyway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Olberic isn’t used to seeing him like this, so excited and anxious. Erhardt is often rather standoffish and logical, so whenever he feels like engaging in this sort of game, Olberic obliges without a second thought. He likes his carefree laughter and his messy hair as he runs. Olberic also likes Erhardt’s hold on his wrist and he adjusts his hand in Erhardt’s to properly hold it as they speed up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: **(For Olberic's safety, there is no song for this one, sorry)  
> Tags: pre-game, kids being kids, general teenager foolery ,foodsharing, sort of birthday!fic, they are like 15 in this one.

“Erhardt!” He feels breathless as he chases after him through the crowded streets. The early summer breeze clings to his skin and he’s even more tired than he often is from their regular training. “Just tell me where we are going!” Olberic knows there’s no use but he can still try.

Erhardt laughs and turns again at a street, reaching for Olberic’s wrist and holding him. “Don’t fall behind!” He’s tired from running too but his pace doesn’t slow down.

Olberic isn’t used to seeing him like this, so excited and anxious. Erhardt is often rather standoffish and logical, so whenever he feels like engaging in this sort of game, Olberic obliges without a second thought. He likes his carefree laughter and his messy hair as he runs. Olberic also likes Erhardt’s hold on his wrist and he adjusts his hand in Erhardt’s to properly hold it as they speed up. They don’t often have time off, so they’re lucky they’re close to a village now that they’re on training leave. Even if his muscles are sore from the daily heavy exercise, he won’t complain about this impromptu rush of energy if he can actually spend some time by his side.

Erhardt suddenly sinks his heels into the paved path of the tiny alleyway and Olberic runs into him. Erhardt holds him into place so they don’t fall ungracefully onto the cobbled street. They must be somewhere downtown. The alleyway is empty save for the two of them and a few old forgotten casks beside them. The street is pretty narrow so Olberic can’t quite see the early afternoon sun from here.

When he realizes he’s still holding Erhardt’s forearms, he steps back, looking elsewhere and tries to voice an apology. However, Erhardt shakes his head first. His bangs are plastered to his forehead with sweat. “I’ll be right back. Wait for me here?” He is nearly begging Olberic and Olberic knows he doesn’t beg, ever. He’s even more curious now.

“You make me run through half of the city to tell me to wait?” He tries testing the waters but Erhardt only smiles smugly.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what happened.” There’s no trace of shame in his voice.

Olberic sighs, still catching his breath. “Can I ask why?” He walks to one of the wooden casks and leans onto it, stretching his tired legs lazily.

“You can ask but I won’t answer.” Erhardt grins and unties a ribbon from his wrist, pulling his hair into a ponytail. “It won’t take long so don’t move.” He stretches his legs too and he’s running away once more.

“You better hurry up!” Olberic calls for him as he disappears, turning right at the next street. His voice is drowned out by the constant sounds of the town and Olberic smiles faintly as soon as Erhardt is out of sight.

He sits on top of the cask and swings his legs back and forth. It’s not like Erhardt to be so…eager about anything. However, Olberic likes it. No one should be so serious all the time. They’re still kids so they have every right to be playful and stupid every now and then. Though he hasn’t known Erhardt for long, barely a few months, it bothers him not being able to fathom what could make him so restless. He’s lucky he has warmed up to him though, even if Erhardt’s most common displays of affection are mocking, rather dumb challenges and a hard elbow in Olberic’s side.

Maybe it is also his fault. Erhardt broke his nose sparring on the day they met and Olberic straight up told him they should be friends. He remembers his bewildered face, still bending over his stomach, recovering from the hit. Erhardt stared at him rudely, looking for any sign of sarcasm or ill-intention and asked flatly to Olberic’s face if he was either stupid or a masochist. Olberic couldn’t possibly laugh louder, so loud his nose began bleeding again. Then Erhardt said it was disgusting as he leaded Olberic to the infirmary. No noses have been broken ever since and Olberic is quite content with that.

There’s little to do while waiting for Erhardt to come back to that secluded street so Olberic just sits there, chin in his hand, nearly dozing off. Then he hears some weird noise coming from the crates next to him and he’s on his feet in a second, looking for the source. Olberic kneels down and tries to take a look behind an old wooden crate. He successfully dodges the swipe and falls on his back, looking at the black cat hissing at him.

Olberic feels like laughing but that would scare the animal away. He reaches for his water skin instead and shakes it slowly, trying to get its attention. “Hey, puss. Over here.” However, the cat doesn’t move forwards. It arches its back, defensive. Olberic knows he isn’t the best with animals but he had to try. After a minute or two of staring, he pours just a bit of his water close to a crate and stays quietly where he is sitting. The stray approaches slowly, giving Olberic a wary glance. Olberic smiles sheepishly when it begins drinking from the tiny pool. “You aren’t talkative, are you?” He doesn’t dare pet it but he sits beside the cat until it’s done and it runs away, leaving Olberic sitting on the ground, alone.

A short while after, Olberic hears heavy, quick footsteps approaching and tired breathing. It must be Erhardt. He slows down his pace when he is nearly there and sneak-peeks silently. Erhardt laughs as soon as he sees Olberic. “What are you doing on the floor?” He steps into the narrow street. Olberic can tell he’s hiding something with his hands behind his back and gives him a sly glance.

“Oh? I made a friend.” Erhardt steps closer and offers him his right hand, left hand still behind him.

“A friend? Can I meet them?”

Olberic takes his hand. “They’re gone now. They’re really shy.” Erhardt helps him to his feet and pokes Olberic’s side with his elbow when he catches him trying to get a look of whatever he’s hiding. “Alright, alright. Just don’t hit me.”

“You yield so easily, Olberic.” Erhardt steps back and finally shows Olberic what he’s been hiding.

Olberic takes a close look trying to understand what is going on. It’s some kind of baked sweet. It smells of honey and butter and it makes Erhardt’s hand sticky. Olberic looks at him, waiting for an explanation when his stomach roars loudly. He looks away in shame.

“What are you waiting for? Come on, take half.” Erhardt splits the honey bun in two and gives the slightly bigger half to Olberic. Then he leans into one of the casks and takes a bite, smiling happily as Olberic watches, mesmerized.

“Thank you.” Olberic whispers before biting down. It’s sweeter than he usually likes but it’s been a long time since he could afford such childish whims. He has to maneuver carefully to avoid getting his whole hand dirty and sticky from dripping honey so he takes a mouthful of the bun. Close to him, he hears Erhardt laughing at him until he is close to crying. His hand is already ruined.

Erhardt takes rather small bites from his half and Olberic tries not to stare too much. Once there is nothing left from the bun, Erhardt licks his palm and fingers clean, not paying any attention at all to Olberic’s fixated gaze on him. Olberic spares himself some shame and closes his eyes, taking the last few bites and cleaning his hand.

Neither of them talk for a short while until Erhardt understands that Olberic truly needs an explanation. He’s swinging his legs from the crate, childishly. “I’ve been saving some leaves, wanted to do something different.” He tries his best to appear unaffected but Olberic can tell he’s smiling lightly. “After all, finally telling you that you aren’t the older of the two of us deserves something special, doesn’t it?” Erhardt grins wide and proudly, eyes closed, head tilted and showing Olberic his teeth. He has a honey stain at the corner of his mouth.

Olberic blinks dumbfounded, staring at him as if he had grown a second head. He drinks in the sight of Erhardt so happy and content with himself. It’s unlikely he would forget such a picture anytime soon. Olberic can’t find his voice for a long while and Erhardt opens his eyes once again, looking at him, waiting for an answer. He’s confused, Olberic can tell. So he finally speaks, eyes looking at the ground and smiling shyly. “So…are you telling me you wanted to share a bun with me for your birthday?” He doesn’t need Erhardt to confirm his claim. Olberic is merely trying to voice his own thoughts and maybe bug Erhardt.

He is successful in that last bit, as Erhardt pouts like a child and points a threatening honey-sticky finger at him. “Don’t you even dare tell anyone. Or else.” He’s frowning as he gets his finger into his mouth and licks it clean without giving it much thought.

Olberic laughs at him. “You should have told me. I would have gotten you something!” He isn’t sure what but he would have worked it out.

“Don’t.” Erhardt sighs, shoulders falling heavy at his sides. “Just…don’t make a big deal of this, please?”

Olberic nods. He will try not to make a big deal of it, for that is what Erhardt has requested, but it is indeed one. Erhardt wanted to share this moment with him, he even saved some money for it. He tells Olberic things he has never shared with any of their peers before and he lets him in in his own way. That night, as they make it to the crowded barracks and climb to their top bunk, Olberic clings a bit closer to Erhardt’s back than normal and whispers:

“Guess I can’t even hum Happy Birthday, can I?”

Erhardt rolls over and, though his expression is completely homicidal, Olberic feels like laughing until his whole body hurts. “Didn’t know you wanted to be thrown off the bed so badly.” Olberic knows pretty well that it wasn’t a threat, but a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to @wintershiny on tumblr for her help!
> 
> I've had this in mind for a long while so I hope you enjoyed it despite being shorter than the others. Next one is rather long too.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	11. Little Else

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " His sleep is restless, mind racing from one wild thing to another, barely making any sense at all. He feels like screaming, like pulling on his hair and drowning but he is suddenly woken up from his terrors. A strong warm hand holds into his shoulder, comforting him. Erhardt doesn’t even need to turn around to know to whom it belongs. “Bale told me I could find you here, probably.” "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Daughter of the Sea (I couldn't fine any hummed covers so I'll just link you the versions I like best) (Original: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fo7XPvwRgG8) (Gingertail: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZU6VG1pQsUc) (Sharm: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g4fwPkLgqrI) (BeyondTheGuitar: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vfCPeUnWWfo)  
> Tags: depression, healing, accidental domesticity, non sexual nudity, mild suicidal thoughts (not sure about this but better safe than sorry with the tags), there's some weird innuendo but it's like just a few lines, singing, spoilers from Olberic ch3, eventual team as familly.

Cold. Not enough to fill his lungs, not enough to wash all of him away but Erhardt lets himself sit there quietly for hours and hours, in a state of half-consciousness, shivering until he falls asleep and then back to shivering with his eyes closed. His hands and feet had wrinkled long ago to the point of hurting and the most recent scratches don’t bleed underwater anymore. He doesn’t know how long it could have been since he got home from their last expedition to the desert since he can’t really tell with the windows in his room closed. His stomach roars often, keeping him out of his uneasy slumber but he can’t manage to compose himself enough to properly wash, get dressed and go out to put anything in his mouth. He just can’t. He has to curl up to fit into his bathtub properly, water reaching up to his face. He couldn’t bury his nose even if he tried though; it’s way too shallow for that.

When he can’t stay awake, he often dreams. Sometimes it’s just some plain, meaningless memories from Grynd, from Hornburg, from his years as a sellsword. Others just don’t make sense: voices and names and smells and phantom pain from wounds long closed. At times, Olberic is there too. Many of those are memories have aged poorly but, sometimes, those dreams take an unexpected turn. Olberic straddling him and punching him in the face until he can’t beg him to stop anymore. Olberic taking a fistful of his hair and pushing his face and nose into the mud until he can’t breathe and his lungs are filled with dirt. Olberic kneeling between his parted legs just like he used to, sinking a heap of raw iron into his abdomen. Erhardt clings to him with both arms and legs, pulling him even closer as the sword goes right through him, blood warm and comforting in its own way. He wakes up from those hallucinations feeling disgusting and sticky with cold sweat, excitement clear between his legs despite every rational part left of his brain screaming for danger.

He lays back once again, caring little for his growing hunger or his strained limbs. His sleep is restless, mind racing from one wild thing to another, barely making any sense at all. He feels like screaming, like pulling on his hair and drowning but he is suddenly woken up from his terrors. A strong warm hand holds into his shoulder, comforting him. Erhardt doesn’t even need to turn around to know to whom it belongs. “Bale told me I could find you here, probably.” Olberic sounds worried, of all things. He kneels down and Erhardt doesn’t stop him from checking for untreated injuries or bruises.

“How did you get in here?” His voice sounds hoarse even to himself from lack of use, his throat is too dry. Normally, he would have heard Olberic coming from downstairs but he won’t admit that he was too tired to do so properly now.

“Captain Bale lent me his spare key. He told me I could help you better than him.” Right, Bale has his spare key. Olberic frowns beside him and touches the cold water, testing it. “You should get out. I’ll go get warm water so you can clean those wounds.” Olberic steps away and takes off his armor, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. “I’m leaving this here.”

He leaves the small attic that Erhardt calls his room not even a minute after that, going downstairs with a couple of buckets. Meanwhile, Erhardt tries his best to actually get out of the bathtub and he succeeds, legs shaking as he makes his way across the room looking for a towel to roll himself into. He stops by his closed balcony and opens it. Erhardt squints, blinded for a second. It must be the start of the afternoon, he isn’t so sure of which day it is though.

Erhardt doesn’t turn around as Olberic pours two boiling buckets of water into his bathtub. “How long?” All of him aches, especially his head.

“Bale said you arrived yesterday morning; he knows you too well.” He is disappointed but not impressed. “We just arrived to Wellspring not even an hour ago.”

He hums and sits on his bed, motionless. “Have you eaten yet?” He cares not for his own roaring stomach, for he is used to starving himself every now and then.

“Not really. The captain really caught me off-guard back there. Maybe I could make something for us both?” Erhardt looks down at his feet and stays quiet. Olberic doesn’t need words to understand. “I can’t believe you…” Olberic pinches the bridge of his nose and Erhardt can’t help but smile faintly. “Alright, you take the buckets, I’ll go get us something.”

He feels like asking Olberic why he is doing all of this but he is pretty sure he wouldn’t be quite content with his answer so Erhardt lets him be. He stretches his legs and picks up some of his discarded clothing as he watches Olberis disappear downstairs once more. He pulls his dripping hair up in a ponytail and takes the buckets. His legs don’t hurt so much anymore. He can do this.

He could, indeed. As soon as he pours the last bucket into his bathtub, Erhardt takes his clothes off once more and sinks up to his nose. This time, the water is almost burning but he likes that too. He cleans himself harshly, until his skin is red from scalding water and the harsh, careless treatment. Then he sits there for a while, hugging his legs. Olberic must be home now, as he hears some noise coming from downstairs.

It’s unfair. Right before everything went astray they had an attic just like his own home, barely a couple of rooms. A mat, a bathtub, a fireplace and a couple of chairs. They needed little else. They used to go there when they were on a leave, away from the palace’s schemes. They would often climb to the roof at night to look at the narrow streets below them. Right under their block, a widower owned a bakery and Erhardt would wake up to the smelt of dark coffee and butter. Maybe it was a glimpse of what could have been but Erhardt doesn’t think so. He tells himself that if he hadn’t done what he did, at least one of them would be dead in a ditch by now, because such is the life they pursued.

Erhardt is fidgeting absentmindedly with his hair when Olberic comes into his room again. He runs his fingers through the tangles and pulls out a few loose strands on his way. He feels Olberic watching him as he plays absently with the wet bundle of loose hair on his hand, rolling it into a ball. Erhardt looks out of the corner of his eye as Olberic walks to his bedside table, searching through his drawers until he finds whatever he was looking for.

“Stay still?” Olberic asks for permission, giving Erhardt time to stop him or to step away if so he wants before kneeling behind him on the floor.

Erhardt just curls up, closing his eyes.. “You’ll get yourself wet but do as you wish.”

He can’t deny it is nice though. It’s been years since the last time he’d let himself be cared for so tenderly. Olberic takes a lock of hair between his fingers and combs it carefully, not pulling on his hair even once. Erhardt lets himself enjoy the familiar closeness, head tilted forward patiently. He listens with astonishment as Olberic quietly hums a tune from the old days behind him, lyrics long lost in the past. He rarely sang back then and Erhardt is pretty sure no short amount of years would be able to change that.

Despite the lack of words, the tune carries a heavy feeling of sorrow. Olberic’s voice is deep as he sinks his fingers in the thin hair at the back of Erhardt’s nape, tending to him always so gently. Next to him, Erhardt hugs his legs even tighter. He feels himself humming the wordless song too, following Olberic’s lead. His sounds weak and high in comparison, huddling as he is. Once Olberic is done, he stands up and leaves his old comb right where he found it.

Erhardt finally turns around to look at him whilst Olberic isn’t facing his way, then at the floor and he closes his eyes once more. He is soon on his own feet and out of the bathtub, wrapping himself in a towel. “Olberic, why are you here?” He is tired of letting the question sit heavy between them.

Olberic doesn’t answer at first, he shifts his weight, arms crossed over his chest and frowning. “We are going to travel northwest. When we arrived, the captain asked me if I could come.” He’s always been a dreadful liar, Erhardt could see clear through him even if he was barely conscious. Erhardt doesn’t have to push him for more: Olberic sighs heavily and gives him a pleading look, asking, begging Erhardt to let it go.

Maybe he should let go, maybe that would be easier for them both. He shouldn’t ask Olberic why he does as he does and Olberic shouldn’t ask him why he walked through half of the continent for his sake after their first meeting since what happened. That’s the thing they are good at aside from killing: not talking.

He gives up and sits on the edge of his bed, trying to dry his hair. Next to the staircase, Olberic smiles faintly. “Come down once you’re done. I’ve made scrambled eggs.” Erhardt doesn’t ask any more questions, he doesn’t need the answers neither knows what he would do with them.

There’s something disturbingly familiar with having Olberic cut his chicken and set the table beside him after so many years. For a few minutes he can pretend it could have been like this. Then he realizes Olberic’s shirt is actually a bit wet, he can get a glimpse of the scar he left on Olberic’s left shoulder eight years ago, so deep it reached and sank through bone. Erhardt is still amused it didn’t compromise his strength nor his skill. The process of healing must have hurt more than Erhardt could ever know. Still, even back then he was fully conscious that had he truly wanted to end Olberic’s life he should have aimed for his head instead.

“Isn’t it funny? You only have a couple of plates, glasses and bowls. Same goes for silverware.” The plates he finds are old and nearly cracked. Erhardt owns little so the drawers remain as empty as anything else in his home.

“The more I have, the less likely I am to wash them. Two I can handle, I feel compelled to not let them sit there for long.” He knows what Olberic is trying to do: he is trying to keep him busy, thinking about something else. If so he wishes, Erhardt won’t stop him. He doubts he even has the will to try.

Sitting beside him, Olberic laughs quietly, pointing out that he does exactly the same. They eat in companionable silence, knees brushing softly under the table. Erhardt picks one of the few jars with canned peaches he has and opens it. Olberic shakes his head, hiding a weak grin. “You like those too much.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll share with you if you want some.” Erhardt even lets him choose first. Olberic takes a ripe big half and Erhardt doesn’t waste any minute. He takes a similar looking half and eats it in great bites.

Olberic nibbles at his, absentmindedly, looking through the arched window. Then something inside him shifts and he leaves his fork aside. “Erhardt,” Now he has his attention. “I only bought enough food for lunch. I understand if you prefer not to but, would you like to join us for dinner?”

He freezes, gulping the last piece of the poor peach down and Erhardt isn’t sure how he doesn’t choke on it for he could swear his throat has gone dry. “I don’t really know, Olberic. Maybe you should ask them, not me.” He can’t judge them, he knows he isn’t welcome but Olberic should figure it out himself. Maybe more surprising is the case with Tressa but Erhardt is pretty sure she is always so easy-going.

“I will ask them.”

Both of them know what he is doing. Olberic doesn’t want to leave him alone for long but he should get used to the idea: they won’t stay at Wellspring for long, after all. Soon they will hit the road once again, on their way northwest. They clear up the table quietly, almost too quietly. It slightly bothers Erhardt, Olberic should be furious at him, he shouldn’t be able to stand him, to know he hasn’t paid the prize yet. Yet there he stands over his sink, sleeves rolled up and helping him dry his dishes.

“You’ll get the flu if you keep wearing wet clothes.” He shakes his head as he tiptoes, trying to get the jar of peaches on the top shelf. Olberic picks them up for him and settles it without struggling. That wasn’t a good idea, he’s going to need a chair to get it. He sighs, defeated.

“Do you mind if I leave it here? I could pick it up tonight.” How can he ask so so casually? Erhardt isn’t sure but he knows Olberic enough to know he either overthinks for so long he actually forgets he hasn’t spoken yet or he doesn’t have a brain-mouth filter at all.

He shrugs his shoulders. “Sure thing. You can leave your backpack and your armor too. You’ve Bale’s key, feel free to come get them even if I’m not home.” Olberic changes and tells Erhardt about their travel from Everhold to Noblecourt and then back south. Erhardt is careful not to ask anything too personal for he knows all of his companions travel for their own reasons and it wouldn’t be like him to pry.

 

Olberic is gone not even an hour afterwards as Erhardt hangs his now-clean shirt from the cord on his balcony, beside the dying cacti his neighbor gave him a few months ago. Erhardt wonders how he managed to actually kill a cactus in its natural environment.

It doesn’t take him long to find his captain and apologize for suddenly disappearing without a warning but Bale is content enough knowing he is pretty much alive and fine. Bale tells him, orders him, to take the rest of the day off and he is back just in time to see that young child that travels with Olberic trying to bargain with one of his neighbors. He looks at them from afar, smiling lightly at Tressa’s cheerful yet tenacious attitude. Erhardt doesn’t want to get in her way so he won’t interfere.

Once the business is over, she’s about to help the elderly lady with her bag when she spots him. He doesn’t feel compelled to help as he greets them both, but he wants to, so he easily picks up most of the bags. Both women walk behind him, chatting cheerfully. Once her last bag is upstairs, they bid each other farewell and Erhardt catches a glimpse of Tressa’s great smile for the first time in a long while.

“That was really nice of you, Sir.” Tressa grins happily, showing him her teeth, proudly.

He tries to shrug it off but Erhardt actually enjoys her easy-going nature. “Flatterer. It has to be exhausting bargaining with cunning women like her, maybe you could use some water.” Tressa is nodding like mad before he is done talking and she complains about the heat in a rather childish voice. She is technically running upstairs before he can stop him.

“You’re too slow, Sir!” She smiles next to his doorway as he excuses himself. However, as he opens the door, the cheerful warmth in Tressa’s face is gone. She stands close to the door, leaning on its frame as she looks around, distressed.

Erhardt frowns but decides against asking right now. He steps inside instead. “I’ll go fetch you a glass. Feel free to come in.” He can listen her walking at a maddeningly slow pace, taking her time to make her way to the small kitchen.

He offers her a glass of fresh water and Tressa takes it with two hands, sipping slowly. She is looking at the floor, clearly annoyed, something sitting heavily on her mind. It doesn’t suit such a good-natured and sweet child to feel like that. Erhardt pulls a chair for her and quietly invites her to sit. Tressa nods, muttering an apology. “I am sorry to pry but I must ask. Have I wronged you by any means?” He steps back, trying to be the least intimidating as possible.

Tressa looks up to him suddenly, eyes huge and shiny. “No! No, Sir, it’s not like that!” She shakes her head vigorously yet she still looks pained. “It’s just… Ah, please, don’t mind me! I’m sorry.” She leaves her glass on the table and joins her palms together, as if she was praying.

Unsure of how to proceed, Erhardt kneels, so they can be on the same eye level, always keeping a respectful distance between them. “Please, I need you to tell me so I can solve whatever is annoying you. There is nothing else I’d rather do now.”

It takes a while but Tressa nods softly. She keeps looking elsewhere as she speaks but Erhardt won’t push her for more. “I just… When I got here it looked as if…” He can tell she is trying to voice it politely. “As if no one has been living here for a long time. I think it feels…kind of lonely?” Erhardt stares at her, dumbfounded. He blinks, still trying to understand her words. Then he laughs loudly and clearly, covering his mouth. Tressa panics. “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have said something so dumb!”

She is going to stand up when Erhardt holds a hand up, telling her to stay, as he composes himself, drying tears of laughter with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please, forgive me. You’re too kind, Tressa. I shouldn’t have laughed.” Isn’t it funny how some kid he barely knows could read him like that? He finds it hilarious.

 

After that, Erhardt tries his best to humor her. And it turns out that what would humor her the most, or so she says, would be having their little dinner in his home. Though he isn’t sure about the sudden change of plans, he can’t deny her anything so he lets her tell her companions. They are lucky they have their own traveling plates and utensils, because there is no way Erhardt’s could have been enough for all of them.

They are a noisy bunch but that isn’t as horrible as he had expected. He likes watching H’aanit peacefully cooking, listening to Tressa and Primrose laugh at the physician when Therion steals a whole potato from his dish, the professor’s never-ending lecture to whomever who is willing to listen, the sister of the faith actually helping him clean up… Gods, he isn’t even that wary of a fucking leopard rubbing against his leg asking for cheekrubs. Olberic has been madly quiet the whole evening but he can’t blame him. Erhardt is slightly startled when he kneels close to where he is sitting on the floor and scratches Linde right above her tail. Linde purrs loudly and Erhardt could swear Olberic’s gaze is clean from any trace of sorrow or pain for a minute.

Tressa suddenly squeals happily and all of them turn to look at her. She has the biggest smile ever on her face. “I just got the best idea ever!” She stands, jumping from her chair. “I think you should join us, Sir!” She looks at Erhardt with shiny eyes, the ones that you just can’t deny anything. “The more the merrier, right?” Tressa turns around, seeking her friends’ approval but they remain quiet.

“That’s a great idea, Tressa!” Alfyn states excitedly and a bit of the tension in the room dissolves. “Please, Sir, please.” Cyrus is soon to join their pleading too.

Erhardt looks at them, confused. “I am flattered but my duty-”

Primrose shakes her head, grinning widely. “I’ve been talking to the Captain, Sir.” H’aanit offers her a knowing smile and Therion whistles at that, earning himself an elbow between his ribs. He hunches over in pain as Primrose keeps talking. “Looks like the townsguard has made a lot of progress in its last expedition, things will be quieter over here for a while.”

Suddenly, it’s all seven of them who are waiting for his answer. Not even Therion is actively put out. Erhardt frowns, deep in thought. He looks at them once more and then he casts a side glance at Olberic, who offers him the slightest nod. This isn’t what he expected, it isn’t what he thought he wanted. It’s complicated and sudden but maybe, just maybe… “Alright, alright. Be it your way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to @wintershiny on tumblr for all her work! You help me out a lot not just with beta-ing but also planning this.
> 
> I may take a while longer with the next chapters since I've been stuck with my writing but I'll try to keep it going. Thanks for reading.


	12. Of Women and Oranges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "They enjoy playing at plazas and inns together. Usually, it is Primrose who sings or even dances as Erhardt plays but Primrose has been getting even more adventurous with her newly-found skill recently. She wants to challenge herself."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Naranča (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XZ5GDzdmKnM)  
> Tags: drinking, dancing, kind of team as family, Prim and Tressa playing wingwomen. Heavily recommended to read ch8 before this one.

“Gods, you are getting good at this, aren’t you?” Erhardt laughs loudly, sitting beside Primrose.

“Beware, Sir. Or soon I won’t need your lessons anymore.” Primrose smiles teasingly; she knows he is always up for a new challenge.

He is right though. She has picked up the lute impressively quickly. He began teaching her three weeks ago, little after they left Clearbrook. Erhardt remembers learning to play over the years, sitting on the floor on his mother’s lap, fingers clumsy and hands too small to play properly. His mother would comb his hair in the meantime. Primrose though, she had learnt everything he had taught her by now in such a short amount of time. She is indeed skilled. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t even a tad jealous.

They enjoy playing at plazas and inns together. Usually, it is Primrose who sings or even dances as Erhardt plays but Primrose has been getting even more adventurous with her newly-found skill recently. She wants to challenge herself. Maybe he could get her a lute of her own so they can play together, he can afford it too. His mother painted hers herself years ago when she traveled the roads. Maybe, just maybe, Primrose would enjoy doing the same.

Tonight they play at an inn on their way north, earning a few spare leaves. The innkeeper had moved aside a few tables and chairs to leave them some extra room. Primrose needs it to dance at first, slowly pulling more and more people into the improvised dance floor. Erhardt laughs as Tressa tries to get both professor Albright and H’aanit to clumsily dance with her at the expense of her little toes. He can also catch a glimpse of all of their other companions: Therion playing cards against sister Ophilia and losing pitifully and Alfyn is trying to outdrink Olberic unsuccessfully.

By his side, Primrose sighs. “Could you go stop them, Sir? I don’t feel like dealing with their hungover morrow morning…” Her words are sincere but Erhardt has learned to read her over months of traveling together. He knows she is up to something.

“Careful. I may as well join them.” He stands up though, leaving her his beloved lute. Erhardt stretches lazily, cracking his back loudly.

“You are so old…” Primrose kicks him in the shin lightly and Erhardt laughs as he steps away from her. He moves between the few dancing couples as Primrose begins playing once again.

Alfyn is actually the first to spot him. He raises his hand and calls for him, slightly giggling. Olberic looks relieved, as if he knows he is there to save him.

“Another round! Ah, and one ale more for my friend!” Erhardt stops Alfyn before he puts his coin on the counter.

Erhardt shakes his head and Olberic understands. He takes it from there. “I am sorry, sir. Could you get our friend some water instead?”

Alfyn complains but he doesn’t resist as Erhardt makes him sit down and drink his glass like a good boy. He takes a look across the room. Primrose looks like she is having a blast. Erhardt can’t help but stare, smiling faintly. Olberic touches his shoulder gently and Erhardt turns around. He is looking across the crowded inn too, face ever so kind and slightly inebriated, not enough to make him giggle like a maid barely of age but enough to make him loosen up.

“What are you two looking at? I want to see too!” Alfyn tries to stand up quickly only to be stopped by Olberic’s hand on his shoulder. He sits once more, pouting like a kid that couldn’t get what they wanted.

Olberic laughs and takes the empty glass off his hands, leaving it on the counter. “Easy there. Rest a bit longer.”

“Then you can go play with the other kids.” Erhardt smirks and he receives roaring laughter from Olberic and a deep embarrassed groan from Alfyn.

“What are you two? My parents?”

Olberic is taken aback but that won’t be enough to stop Erhardt from teasing. “Show your father some respect!” So they keep teasing Alfyn, mostly Erhardt as Olberic ignores them both for most of the time, until Alfyn is feeling better. He can actually stand and walk without looking like a duck - a worryingly drunk duck.

Alfyn lifts himself from the counter despite Olberic warning him to rest for a while longer. He walks away in the least duck-like way he can, which isn’t very flattering but he tries anyway. He is off probably to play two versus one with Therion against Ophilia. Odds are not on their side. Beside him, Erhardt hears Olberic sighing in relief as soon as Alfyn is sitting again.

Erhardt feels like laughing at him. “He’ll be alright. Want to bet if sister Ophilia is going to carry him to his room in less than twenty minutes?”

Olberic finally looks at him, wide-eyed at first. Then he shakes his head, smiling lightly. “You know I don’t place bets I’m going to lose.”

So they sit quietly for a while, barely paying any attention. Erhardt can listen to Therion groaning from where they sit; always so dramatic. Tressa runs around the room, trying to get every single one of them to dance with her at least once. He hopes she tires herself out before she reaches them but in the meantime it could be fun to watch. Tressa releases H’aanit and Cyrus from their suffering and she goes for the playing table. She manages to make Alfyn stand awkwardly and spin her clumsily as they laugh. If he didn’t know better, Erhardt could have said Tressa may as well have been drunk herself.

However, what actives Erhardt’s fight or flight response is seeing Tressa leaning to whisper into Primrose’s ear and Primrose talking back to her just like that too. They aren’t up to anything good and he knows. Maybe he should warn Olberic since he is more likely to know what is coming for them. However, he doesn’t want to start panicking. It’s just Tressa, after all.

Erhardt blinks in confusion when the barkeeper leaves a mug of black ale before him, then they move around the counter, closer to the doorway to tend to other customers. Erhardt doesn’t need to ask to know whose doing it is. “Aren’t you ordering for yourself too?”

“Not by now. Alfyn…drinks way too fast.” Olberic sighs tiredly and Erhardt can’t help but laugh.

“You are losing your touch… What a pity…” He knows Olberic can drink just as much as him and it would not be like him to not tease Olberic, seeking a challenge. Of course it can backfire but, as Erhardt stares at him from the rim of his mug, he can see Olberic’s great resolve slowly cracking.

Olberic closes his eyes for a few seconds and Erhardt knows he is thinking too loud again. There is no trace of doubt in his gaze when he is looking at Erhardt once again. “You don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into…” It should be frightening how close to his ‘battling voice’ he actually sounds like, but Erhardt can’t even care right now.

 

“Please, please, please!” Tressa is looking at him with pleading eyes, taking Erhardt’s hands between her own. They are hardly different in size even if hers are much softer and warmer. She isn’t even twenty yet. If she gets a major growth spurt, maybe she could get to his height, though that isn’t actually that difficult. Tressa begs and she won’t take no for an answer.

So Erhardt doesn’t fight back: he lets her pull him to his feet and balances himself easily despite his slightly clouded senses. Tressa squeals happily when he accepts, dragging him to the dance floor. He can listen to Olberic laughing from the counter, eyes dreamy and a bit intoxicated.

Before the music actually starts, Erhardt stays still for a moment, trying to remember whatever he should do. “Tressa, it’s been a long time since I last danced. I hope you can understand my clumsiness.” He has been drinking too but it would take much more than that to bring him down.

Tressa nods, taking a step forwards. “I’m learning so be patient with me too?”

How could he not be? Tressa laughs as she dances, spinning carefully. Her dress lifts up to her knees as Erhardt leads the best he can. It’s been more than eight years since the last time he danced. However, as Tressa laughs and avoids stepping on him by the bare minimum, Erhardt can’t help but compare her to his Lady Lissete. She would be her age too were she…

Erhardt doesn’t realize he isn’t moving anymore until Tressa holds into his upper arms with a concerned expression on her face. “Do you want to sit for a while, Sir?”

The first song isn’t even over yet so Erhardt shakes his head. “I think I owe you some more. I’m sorry. Could you ever forgive me?” He sounds exactly like he did back then by the gardenia. He can’t help but wonder as he dances for a while longer with Tressa how would Her Highness be if he had not done what he did.

He had forgotten how exhausting dancing could actually be so once they are done, Tressa leaves him by Primrose’s side as she runs once more through the room. They drink some water; Primrose has been overdoing herself for a rather long time. However, even when he offers to take over, she denies his help. He can see right through her, something is going on. Primrose is cunning and clever, if bored she can easily become a dangerous trickster. He isn’t going to win anything from trying to get her to confess the truth so he goes along with whatever she’s planned and exchanges sly glances every now and then.

Erhardt sits beside Primrose as he catches his breath. He watches from afar as Tressa drags Olberic to dance too. This is retribution. He laughs so hard he can’t quite see Primrose’s sly glance. He cheers at them from his seat. However, Tressa is the most delighted here. She laughs and squeals when Olberic spins her easily, she asks him to lift her a few times and her eyes shine when he actually agrees. He watches as they dance for more than ten minutes, twisting and spinning and laughing. How long has it been since he last heard Olberic laughing like this? Has he ever done so? Erhardt isn’t quite sure.

Tressa leans on Olberic, holding his arms as she stills herself. She is beaming. Olberic’s hair is down, it’s been a quite while since Erhardt last saw him like that. He can’t help but smile faintly. However, he gets a visceral reaction of fear as he sees Tressa looking their way. More likely, Primrose’s way.

“Whatever you have in mind, just don’t…” He whispers and she knows perfectly well what he is talking about.

“What’s wrong?” Primrose talks quietly as she adjusts the lute. “Just go have some fun. When was the last time you danced, anyway?” She drinks a bit more of her water. Bad idea.

“Not even twenty minutes ago.”

She coughs, gulping and trying to breathe as she laughs. “Very funny…” She hasn’t recovered yet. Erhardt feels a bit proud of that. “Now go live a little, old man, before your joints begin to rust.” Primrose has the audacity to kick him in the shin. Again.

Erhardt stands, checking his pained leg and giving Primrose a dirty glance that doesn’t last. He guesses he’ll have to go if he wants to continue their travel walking on his own. Tressa notices he is coming their way and she isn’t subtle. She hurriedly says something about looking for Ophilia and soon she’s running through the crowd; chasing after her would be nearly impossible. Olberic is still looking at where she stood not even five seconds ago in confusion when Erhardt taps his shoulder carefully.

“Primrose just kicked me out.” He has to laugh. That woman always gets what she wants - she’s an unstoppable force.

Olberic frowns. “I thought you were on good terms with her.” Because it’s obvious they are, despite the mild name-calling every now and then.

Erhardt shakes his head. “We are. It’s jus-” A familiar tune. Too familiar. Hah. Was Primrose some kind of witch, because how else could she have guessed…? When he looks up to Olberic, he is already offering his hand to him.

Maybe they shouldn’t. They are drunk, even if only lightly so, but they argue and fight together on daily basis. They share meal and drink and sleep in close quarters. He feels Olberic’s gaze lingering over him often and he isn’t subtle himself either. So what harm could a song from long ago do? He will think about the strange connection between scheming women and oranges later. For now he takes that hand.

_Oh, girl, like apple blush._   
_They say you were born from an orange._   
_I wasn't born from an orange._   
_My mother gave birth to me on the mountains._

Primrose’s voice fits the song like a glove. The words take him back in time, when things were just as complicated but for entirely different reasons. His head spins as Olberic leads them carefully between the other spinning couples in this much more narrow room. They don’t dance as frantically as back then, for there is no need for them to hurry anymore. Despite being apart for the greatest part of a decade, Erhardt can tell they synchronize better now. He always knows where Olberic will step next and moves accordingly despite the alcohol in his veins. And Olberic leads him thoughtfully, letting Erhardt adjust his grip if he needs to and be at his own pace.

He used to pay a lot of attention to Olberic’s feet back then. He needed to know his next move before he took it, he could read him like an open book. He barely dares to try now, at least when he is in his right mind and fully conscious.

_The northern wind was my cradle,_   
_It was lulling me into the sea._   
_The fishermen caught me in their nets._   
_They gave me to Catherine the pale._

He remembers clearly, as if it were yesterday. Lissete pushed him when he wasn’t looking and it was also Olberic who offered his hand back then. He remembers doubt and then thrill. He would search for his gaze everywhere, so damn honest and open. Olberic lifted him a lifetime ago and he felt like laughing until his lungs began to bleed.

They are more careful now, moving deliberately despite the alcohol. Olberic seems to be asking for permission for only Gods know what most of the time and Erhardt doesn’t dare push him either. Unsure, Erhardt raises his hand and Olberic understands: he barely touches his fingertips though as he spins him a bit faster, stepping closer to him and holding him lightly. Erhardt can walk away if he so desires but he doesn’t.

_Catherine was a good woman_   
_So he raised me in the villa_   
_With white bread and red wine_   
_With white bread and red wine._

They slow down as Primrose’s voice dies, her audience already asking for another song. Erhardt enjoys the last notes of this tune though, Olberic’s hands still lingering on his own, neither demanding nor yielding. Not yet at least.

Erhardt looks down to the ground, uncertain. He smiles faintly when he looks up again. “I apologize. I owe you a proper dance.” Whatever Olberic was expecting, it wasn’t that because he laughs fairly loudly, squinting his eyes and showing his teeth. Does it matter though? There is no use now in wondering what his thoughts were in such a brief time. It may take Erhardt long to dance properly again, not just to recall days of old but to actually enjoy it, so it’s unlikely they will achieve it on their first try. Or on their second. Or fifth. But they have time now, so it won’t be for a lack of attempts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to @wintershiny on tumblr for all of her hard work and her help. She really is helping me improving my shitty English.
> 
> (Also, Erhardt-Primrose is mlm-wlw solidarity.)


	13. Tired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sometimes adults look tired, they don't seam to listen and are impossible to please even with things they like. Philip thinks some adults are even more tired than others. Are they lonely? Maybe they are angry. He can't quite understand it yet."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Far From Any Road (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gli0ZpmTIYs)  
> Tags: post-game, Philip's POV, established Olberic/Erhardt, singing, adult issues through kids' eyes, (when there are barely any kids your age in your village so your best friend is an ex-knight who is as old as your mom).  
> (I don't know how to tag this chapter, help.)

“Are you already tired? I thought you said it wasn't that heavy.” Sir Erhardt laughs quietly but he means no harm. “Show me your arms.” Philip does as he is told and he leaves his new training sword on the ground before extending his arms for the knight to inspect. Sir Erhardt asks him if it hurts and where, if he can fold them properly or not; he frowns lightly. “That’s it for today.” Sir Erhardt takes a step back and picks up his sword for him.

Philip looks up, shocked. “But it’s still early, Sir! Please, Sir!” They have a few hours left before the sun sets and he wants to make the most of being able to train with Sir Olberic’s partner. After all, he is only going to stay at Cobbleston for a few weeks.

“You’re using a heavier sword than you’re used to. It will take you some time to get used to it so don’t rush or you will only hurt yourself.” He looks side to side, as if searching for a source of danger, and then he whispers into Philip’s ear: “I don’t want both your lady mother and Olberic to chase after me if you are hurting even if it’s just a little bit.” It’s weird. Despite Sir Erhardt’s serious expression, Philip can’t help but find his words funny. “Don’t laugh at me, I mean it.”

They sit for a while. Philip has many questions: about his form, about pieces of advice he could use, about gear maintenance, about how he met Sir Olberic… Sir Erhardt answers most of them more or less satisfactorily. Both knights often avoid talking about the past. Maybe they don’t know Philip has realized. Sometimes, when they think no one’s looking, they look tired, defeated. Thirty-five may seem like an eternity to Philip but he knows they are not old. It has to be the gray hairs… The scars and dark circles under their eyes are important too.

Sometimes adults look tired, they don't seem to listen and are impossible to please even with things they like. Philip thinks some adults are even more tired than others. Are they lonely? Maybe they are angry. He can't quite understand it yet. Sir Olberic and Sir Erhardt don’t look angry, they are always kind with him, even if a little strict. He likes them to be strict though, everyone else tries to baby him. He doesn’t think they are lonely. Why would they be? Sir Olberic’s friends visit Cobbleston often and he and Sir Erhardt write to each other. Philip knows it’s been a long time since they last saw each other but it should be fine by now, right?

But what if he is wrong? Do they feel lonely? Sir Olberic went up the mountain path this morning to meet halfway with Gaston and the townguard. The last snow a few days ago had trapped a shepherd and they went to rescue him and his cattle. They’ll be back by nightfall, maybe a little later. Philip likes snow but he wishes spring could come sooner so he could stay a few more hours playing and training. Philip’s been pouting all along, deep in thought. “Sir, I’ve heard you don’t know how to cook. Do you want to come have dinner with my mom and me?

Sir Erhardt blinks quickly and he whispers “I beg your pardon.” under his breath. “I’m sorry, young man, but I think I’ll wait for Olberic and Gaston. I want to see him too.” Philip can’t quite understand how someone like Sir Erhardt can be friends with a former bandit like Gaston. Sir Olberic said he has his former sword - they must be really close. “Now, tell me. Who said that?”

He can’t help but laugh. That is too good to be true. “So it’s true? I thought he was kidding.” He avoids saying who to mock him harmlessly. “Sir Olberic always says that if I want to travel one day I have to learn to fend for myself, not only to fight. Cooking, sewing, hunting… What do you do on the road then, Sir?”

“I can cook rice.” That’s not much but it’s enough.

Philip smiles shyly and tries not to laugh. “Not to be mean but… I can cook rice too, Sir.”

Erhardt doesn’t look annoyed. Quite the contrary. He smiles lightly as he leaves his now-polished sword aside. “Maybe you could teach me something for once.” However, as Philip pays more attention to him, he realizes his eyes are half-lidded, barely paying him any mind. That tired look on his face is back. Sir Erhardt looks back to him slowly and Philip knows he’s been caught staring. “Do you want me to take you home now?”

He rushes to shake his head. “It’s still early. Please, Sir, let’s stay for a little longer.” Philip doesn’t want to pout. He wants both Sir Olberic and Sir Erhardt to treat him just like they would treat an adult, he wants them to be able to trust him and tell him why they are so tired so they can rest easier and feel a bit better. Philip wants to grow up just now to be able to understand. “I’ve heard you can play the lute, Sir. I don’t think I’ll be able to learn,” Because he doesn’t have enough patience for that. “but would you mind showing me a song or two from the Sunlands? I’ve never heard anything like that.”

Maybe that would do, since it’s something Sir Erhardt enjoys. Maybe then he will look brighter, like he does when he’s sparring with Sir Olberic. It could be Philip’s imagination but he thinks sometimes that they fight as if they were dancing. Is it always like that when you know your partner so well? Philip isn’t so sure.

Philip feels at ease when Sir Erhardt finally nods. He gets up and offers Philip his hand to help him to his feet too. “We could stay at Olberic’s house if you want to, it won’t take long to get dark.” Despite being late winter, the days are still fairly short. Philip isn’t thrilled by that but he must bear with it.

“Can we, Sir? Won’t Sir Olberic mind?” He’s been there before but never without Sir Olberic or without his explicit permission. He can’t help but worry and feel wrong. However, Sir Erhardt dissipates all of his doubts, showing him a set of keys with an easy smile. Those are undeniably Sir Olberic’s keys. It makes sense for him to leave his home in trusted hands but it still speaks volumes of trust.

Sir Erhardt lights the small fireplace in the nearly empty living room and sets a pot with water to boil. Then he asks Philip to keep an eye on it as he goes for his lute. Philip sits by the fire quietly. He didn’t realize before since they had been training, but it’s pretty cold. His hands are freezing, knuckles red and dry and skin chapped. He left his gloves at home this morning. His mom will be so worried and disappointed. Philip warms his hands by the fire as the water begins to boil.

Philip is startled when he feels a thick blanket being dropped next to him on the floor. Sir Erhardt shakes his head. “You could have said you were cold.” Philip picks up the blanket and rolls himself in it up to his nose. Sir Erhardt laughs from the counter as he stretches to pick up a pair of mugs. “Tell me, do you like tea?”

He turns around to take a look, shrinking under the blankets. “It’s bitter.” Out of the corner of his eye, Philip spots the famous lute. It’s so pretty. It looks well cared for and bright, wood shiny and painted with a thin brush. Philip stares, frowning a little. He tries to picture Sir Erhardt painting with such care. Maybe it was him or maybe it was its previous owner.

“You’re right. We could thin it down with some milk though.” He walks back to the fireplace with both mugs and picks up the pot, setting two mugs of tea and milk for them. “You can play it if you want to.” He hums peacefully as he puts the pot aside.

Philip turns to look at him quickly, brows furrowed in concern. “But I don’t know how to play it. It’d be horrible.”

Sir Erhardt sits on the floor next to him and picks up the lute carefully, almost caringly. “Were you any good the first time you picked a sword?” He doesn’t answer. “This is very much the same. I could teach you if you want. After all, I also taught Olberic long ago.”

He stares at him open-mouthed as Erhardt tunes his lute quietly, humming to himself. Then Philip remembers how to close his mouth and talk. “Are you serious? Sir Olberic? Can he play too? Is he any good?” He asks, rather excited as he hugs the blanket closer to himself. He can’t help but laugh whenever he pictures Sir Olberic trying to play. His hands are far too big, fingers too thick to play the strings properly.

Sir Erhardt hums again. He is smiling peacefully but his eyes are quiet, gaze fixed on the fireplace. “As serious as one can be. He only knows a few chords but that’s fine.” He holds his mug with both hands to warm them and takes a sip from it. Philip mimics him. It tastes weird but it isn’t bad. Maybe he could get used to it. Sir Erhardt nods in approval. “Come sit with me. I’ll teach you.”

Philip sits beside him as he is told eagerly. Sir Erhardt sets the lute on his lap and instructs him on how to hold it. Philip’s hands are too small for it to be totally comfortable but Sir Erhardt’s hands aren’t big either so he guesses it doesn’t have to be much of an issue. He frowns, barely daring to touch the strings. What if he breaks one of them by accident? Sir Erhardt would be angry at him for sure.

It takes a bit of convincing on Erhardt’s part but Philip eventually tries to play a few chords carefully. They don’t come out as planned and it frustrates him. They sound horribly and it stings his ears. Philip pouts, discouraged. However, Sir Erhardt doesn’t laugh. He sits behind him and puts his hands over him, kindly correcting his fingers into the proper form. He barely talks but, when he does, it’s always softly, trying his best to encourage Philip. In the end, Philip doesn’t feel like he has improved much but part of his stage fright has disappeared. Maybe they could continue tomorrow so he can get better. His mother would be thrilled and so would Sir Olberic.

Between his hands, he can see the lute is older than it looks. He likes the softness of the last varnish, it makes it look sleek and slightly red. It’s pretty. “How do you take care of it?” Despite the wear, the tiny patterns are bright and clear.

“That’s a bit boring to explain. Maybe some other time?” Philip knows next to nothing about woodworking but he guesses Sir Erhardt is right. Definitely not as exciting as training or learning how to play.

“Alright but you have to play something in return, Sir. Please?” Despite everything, his mother has told him he has to be polite when talking to adults and he is not going to disappoint her.

Sir Erhardt blinks in surprise before covering his laughter with his hand. He shakes his head, eyes closed. “If you so wish. Now, tell me. What should I play?”

He asks for something from the Sunlands. Philip has never been away from Cobbleston for long. He can’t help but hope he’ll be able to travel as much as Sir Olberic once he grows up. Who knows? Maybe he will find a group of friends to travel with. Or even a longtime partner like Erhardt. As he gets out of Sir Erhardt’s lap and he tunes the lute, Philip tries to picture those people in his head. Where can they be now? How are they? Will it take long before they meet?

_From the dusty mesa_   
_Her looming shadow grows_   
_Hidden in the branches of the poison creosote_   
_She twines her spines up slowly_   
_Towards the boiling sun_   
_And when I touched her skin_   
_My fingers ran with blood_

Even if he asked for it, it takes him by surprise. Unlike the music one could imagine best fitting for famous cities like Sunshade, this tune feels like a road song, a song for nights camping in the wild. He’ll have to learn a lot of those if he wants to be a good adventurer one day. Philip sits there on the floor, curled up in a blanket, watching wide-eyed as Sir Erhardt sings. He can’t quite understand why or how but, despite the rather harsh words, his voice doesn’t feel off at all.

_In the hushing dusk under a swollen silver moon_   
_I came walking with the wind to watch the cactus bloom_   
_And strange hunger halted me, the looming shadows danced_   
_I fell down to the thorny brush and felt the trembling hands_

His eyes have been nearly closed all along. At first Philip thinks it’s a dumb thing to realize, probably meaningless. He pays close attention to his expression, leaning forward and holding his nearly empty mug tightly. He looks peaceful and maybe a bit sleepy. Philip doesn’t know how to describe it any better. The words are confusing. How could a plant be so special? And if it’s so dangerous, why would anyone get willingly close to it? Sir Erhardt opens his eyes slowly, they feel warm yet Philip can tell something isn’t quite right, they seem…dull of all things. As if Sir Erhardt was exhausted.

_When the last light warms the rocks_   
_And the rattlesnakes unfold_   
_Mountain cats will come to drag away your bones_

He tries to recall what could be wrong. He doesn’t look angry at all, that is easy to tell. And Philip’s been trying to make him lonely since noon. He doesn’t understand why he should feel lonely even if he wasn’t here. He has traveled a long distance to be with an old friend so he should be alright now. Maybe once Olberic comes back? Deep down Philip thinks there is something else, something he doesn’t know but he doesn’t have the right to ask for either.

_And rise with me forever_   
_Across the silent sand_   
_And the stars will be your eyes_   
_And the wind will be my hands_

Once the music dies slowly, Philip has already made up his mind. He may not be sure of many things but one is certain and he can’t keep his know-it-all smile inside. He finds it funny. Sir Erhardt leaves his lute resting on his lap and looks back at Philip for the first time in a while. He blinks fast and looks at him warily. “Is something wrong?”

Philip shakes his head. “Nothing at all, Sir. But I think it’s kind of funny.” He grins showing his teeth. “Not to be mean but I think you don’t know which songs are meant for children and which are not.” That’s when he can help but laugh.

Sir Erhardt looks so taken aback it’s actually comical too. It takes him a while to go back to his normal self but then he looks at him with a smirk. “Oh. I didn’t know you’d prefer me to sing you a lullaby and babytalk to you.”

He is soon on his feet and offended. With his short height, high pitched voice and a blanket over his shoulders, he probably looks like the least intimidating thing possible. “Don’t even dream about it, Sir!”

 

Sir Erhardt walks him home shortly afterwards and Philip helps his mother before dinner. She is making some pierogi and he is so hungry he gives her the puppy eyes so he can have a tiny bite of uncooked dough before setting them in the oven. He tells her excitedly about his day without skimping on any single detail. That night, sleep doesn’t find him easily and, after an hour or so of turning around in bed every now and then, he gets up. Without lighting any candle to avoid annoying his mother, Philip opens his window and sits beside it, taking a look outside.

It’s dark but a few lamps light the quiet streets. Philip leans on his window and squints his eyes, trying to look as far as he can. He gives up easily but then the sound of many bells together make him straighten his back. They are back. He almost feels like running downstairs in only his sleepwear to greet them but they are probably tired.

From high up in his window, Philip can spot Gaston easily as he runs across the streets. Sir Olberic is following him at a much slower pace. He follows Gaston with his gaze, frowning slightly. He sprints once he is close to the local tavern and then he lifts a smaller person standing over there in the air. Gaston laughs loud and clear through the night and Philip can hear that the much quieter laugh is coming from Erhardt. He is back on the ground when Sir Olberic arrives and any trace of doubt is gone from Philip’s mind as Sir Erhardt pulls both of them into a close embrace. He looks so tiny between those two, Philip chuckles to himself.

All three of them look so close, despite trying his best not to, Philip feels a bit jealous. He knows it’s normal: he’s still young and they just can’t treat him like they would treat one another. They try their best though. Even Gaston somehow has encouraged his behavior since their first unlikely meeting. Philip is still wary of him, but that he is thankful for. So he understands why they can’t truly be so at ease with him but that doesn’t make him feel much better about it. Not when he feels useless, not when Sir Olberic and Sir Erhardt look tired for some unknown reason that always seems to go over his head. One day he swears he will grow up, he will make himself useful and trustworthy and he will make all of them proud: mom, Sir Olberic, Sir Erhardt, Gaston, the whole of Cobbleston and whoever comes his way. Then they’ll rely on him, then it’ll be his chance to look after them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to@WinterShiny here on ao3 (because tumblr is already dying) for all of her hard work and help.
> 
> I finally decided how many chapters there are left, at least by now: ten more to go. I'll try my best but I warn in advance that I may not be able to keep up with the weekly updates in a few weeks because my finals are pretty close. Next week's chapter is ready though, so don't worry; it'll be shorter than this one. I don't have any future project in mind once I finish Dances & Songs but there's still a while left. Feel free to tell about some ideas you'd like to see though.
> 
> Finally, thank all of you for reading and all of your nice comments.


	14. Like Cattle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Erhardt arrives at camp on the Day of Brand, only eight days left before the end of the year. Trainees are usually given most of the last twelve days of the year off, the Day of Brand for sure. Despite the freezing weather, Erhardt can’t help but smile under his oversized parka. It’s been so long since the last time he joined the Brotherhood; nearly a whole year. He sees some new faces and old pals greet him alike wherever he goes. He misses some people in the crowd but such is the life they’ve all chosen."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Till our heads turn white (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r3fWc4rzuGo)  
> Tags: pre-game, The Black Brotherhood, swearing, Werner is his own warning, underage drinking, tw: disturbing images of animal skinning and throwing up, attemp of parental substitution gone wrong, minor casualties: a deer, "how to bond with a teen?" by Werner, does this count as a Christmas fic?

Erhardt arrives at camp on the Day of Brand, only eight days left before the end of the year. Trainees are usually given most of the last twelve days of the year off, the Day of Brand for sure. Despite the freezing weather, Erhardt can’t help but smile under his oversized parka. It’s been so long since the last time he joined the Brotherhood; nearly a whole year. He sees some new faces and old pals greet him alike wherever he goes. He misses some people in the crowd but such is the life they’ve all chosen.

It had been a few days to walk from the training grounds in Hornburg to the Brotherhood’s current campsite. His feet are sore and freezing and his hands are nearly bleeding from the cold. He is tired from cooking the same tasteless rice over and over again but his stomach roars and a piece of bread would go bland and get soaked in this weather. He received Werner’s letter about a week ago and burnt it as soon as he was done reading it; no need to take useless risks. Erhardt told Olberic an old friend of his wanted to see him for the Day of Brand. He could see the disappointment clear on Olberic’s face, but he’s so polite that he just wished him a good training break. Erhardt doubts he’d be able to stomach spending these last days of the year with Olberic’s family even if he was able to - he wouldn’t fit in well at all.

So he walks through the crowded campsite instead, among boiling pots of bland stew and freezing sellswords. Kids a bit younger than him are more playful than the old lads groaning and curling closer to the fires. They throw snowballs at each other, hiding behind walls of snow they built themselves. Sometimes, Erhardt wishes things were easier; he could join them and teach them how to properly throw a good curveball. He isn’t in the mood for that though and he is in a hurry, looking for the main tent, where Werner must be. Across the campsite, Erhardt can overhear endless conversations and off-tune dirty songs, making for an annoying, cacophonous background noise. However, that doesn’t change his thoughts on living in the training grounds or with the Brotherhood. It may make his head ache but, despite his best attempts, he feels nearly at home

_Crowds of girls, streams of wine_   
_Nothing can bother me today, as I am with my peers_   
_Nothing can bother me ‘cause today we celebrate…_   
_Today we drink, friend, ‘till our heads turn white_

Erhardt finally finds the main tent right at the center of the encampment, large and great and quiet, unlike many others. He shifts his weight uncomfortably and closes his eyes tight before clearing his throat. “My Lord, may I come in?” He waits anxiously for his answer.

Werner hums from inside his tent. “You’ve taken long enough, brat.” Erhardt isn’t intimidated by his manners, not anymore. It means he, somehow, has missed him. He pulls away the thick cloth covering the entrance and carefully steps inside. The air is heavy here: it smells of smoke from the small, burning fireplace and of blood. Erhardt looks around the large tent, eyes wide, and he finds Werner facing a large wooden table with a massive stag lying dead on it. He is nearly kneeling close to the table, dirk sunken deep into the stag’s belly and tearing through it. “Was your travel safe? Leave your stuff over there.”

He can’t take his eyes off the scene as Werner rises to his feet. Erhardt remembers he hasn't answered yet. “Pretty much. I wasn’t followed either.” He thankfully turns around to leave his backpack and all of his belongings leaning somewhere else in the tent, away from the blood. Erhardt puts down his cloak too, and rubs his hands together.

Werner nods shortly and gets his hands inside the large cut in the animal. “We have many things to discuss.” Erhardt involuntarily closes his eyes as he hears how his lord pulls out the deer’s guts and throws them in a bucket. He regrets opening them if only for a moment because Erhardt feels bile rising through his chest. “That can wait until tonight though. I feel more talkative with my stomach full of stew and good wine.” He cleans his hands on an old cloth, probably from a torn shirt. “You’re rather quiet today, brat.” Werner turns around to look at him and frowns with deep distaste at his queasiness. “Come here.” He leaves the bloodstained cloth on the table. “You are going to do it yourself.”

Erhardt almost panics at those words. He looks at the deer’s face, eyes dull and black and muscles relaxed after death. Then he looks at the deep gash and, as he steps forwards, he takes a wary look at the bucket with the discarded intestines. He feels his own eyes go watery as Werner hands him his dirk. More exactly, Werner takes his hand and shoves the pommel of the dagger into it, closing his hand forcibly.

“Now, you’re going to listen to me.” Werner steps back and crosses his arms over his chest. Erhardt tries taking a deep breath but it only fills his lungs with the reeking metallic sting of blood. “Cut through the base of the front legs, near the ankle. We can go from there up.”

_The woman is, friend, the breed of a snake_   
_Let her come close and it will be your end_   
_Your heart aches, you don’t want another_   
_So stop looking further and pour yourself some more wine_

“You haven’t grown a single inch in a whole year. What are you brats fed? A nice bowl of water and shit?” His stomach shakes at Werner’s words but Erhardt presses his lips tightly together and gulps. He can endure worse. “Do they really want to keep an army like that?”

Erhardt cuts and pulls the skin as he goes, head aching painfully. Suddenly, the tent is too hot. Outside the singing and noise is too loud. Werner walks across the tent and Erhardt listens as he serves himself a glass of wine. His head feels both heavy and light at the same time.

“I’ve seen men grow as late as their early twenties so you have a few more chances if they begin to feed you better than the dogs.” Werner is pouring another glass and he leaves it at the corner of the bloody table. “Your shoulders are decent though. No longer a scrawny little brat, are you? No. You are building up some muscle. We will see what you’ve truly got morrow morning.” Erhardt’s head beats with Werner’s every step on the ground and as he pulls up a chair to sit on, he instructs him how to proceed. “Drink.”

Erhardt’s hands are almost shaking as he leaves the knife on the table. The cuts on the hide are uneven and he’s not only separating the hide from the raw meat but also patches of muscle and fat. Cold thick blood stains his hands and gets between the stinging cuts from the cold weather. Werner likes his wine cold despite the weather so it shouldn’t be surprising when he reaches for the glass and it’s as cold as it can be without having actual ice in it. Erhardt knows it’s not going to be nice.

He isn’t wrong. It feels like it pierces his throat from side to side. The wine burns as it runs down his throat, yet it’s painfully cold. Erhardt doesn’t know if continuing to drink would make it better or worse, so he stays still after taking a long sip, holding the glass tightly between his hands. He puts the glass aside and Erhardt realizes he’s left his bloody hand imprinted on it. He thinks he hears Werner comment on how he should know how to handle his drink properly by now but he can barely hear through the great fog of nausea.

_Fuck and drink, drink and fuck_   
_Tell me, friend, what’s there more to want?_   
_Invite the wenches and roll out the barrels_   
_Today drinks everyone, evil, dead and poor_

He’s able to keep skinning the stag for ten more minutes. Then it becomes unbearable. His stomach jumps every time he spots blood or dares to look at the dead animal in the eye. His head aches from the cold weather and drinking with his stomach empty. Both his legs and hands are shaking at the end. Erhardt tightly holds onto the rim of the table until his knuckles turn white. His eyes are teary as he’s stooped over by the sheer force of the nausea. He reaches for the closest bucket in sight by instinct, where Werner left the beast’s intestines, as his legs fail him and he kneels on the ground and that’s what does it for him.

Erhardt doesn’t realize Werner is rising to his feet and quickly reaching for him. Werner grabs him by his ponytail, keeping his hair away from his face, before he can empty his already empty stomach all over the meat. He gets him another bucket and holds his hair up for him as the nausea hits him. Erhardt watches with his eyes open wide and moist with tears as the feeling burns him from his stomach up to his throat, leaving him feeling sore and disgusting. He tries catching his breath, gasping for air, unsuccessfully. The strong reek hits him as soon as he can stop himself from shaking as well as the foul taste on his tongue and he holds the bucket tight against his chest.

He fights his gag reflex the best he can, trying to keep any remaining pride in front of Werner after this display. He wins this time but the damage is already done. Erhardt drools over the bucket as he catches his breath for a minute. That’s when he feels Werner kneeling close to him, a large hand on his back.

“You will do better next time.” Erhardt doesn’t think he will be able to do so but he isn’t going to contradict Werner, especially not now. Werner cleans his face with a rough cloth without much of a care but it’s already more than whatever Erhardt was waiting for. “I prefer you to throw up on a deer rather than on a human corpse. Think about this as training too.” His voice isn’t kind but Erhardt knows he is not lying to him; Werner cares too little about his opinion to actually avoid voicing his thoughts in front of Erhardt. Strangely, that’s precisely what Erhardt likes best about him. Werner helps him to his feet as if Erhardt was nothing but an old, weightless ragdoll. “Go throw this in the latrines, I’ve got some work to do here if we want stew for tonight’s feast.”

Erhardt picks up his bucket and straightens his back, head still feeling light and spinning. He wraps up in his winter cloak, wiping away a few remaining tears of shame with an unraveled corner.

Werner doesn’t turn around to look at him this time. He swallows all the wine that Erhardt left whole and picks up his dirk. He carries on skinning the massive stag. “You must be starving. I’ll make sure to save a few ribs for you tonight.”

That isn’t a lie either. Pity? Were it someone else, Erhardt could think it is, but it isn’t: Werner is dead serious about everything he says. He doesn’t play half-assed games, he has no time for them. That’s why Erhardt follows him, why he’s pledged to him. That night Erhardt sits at the right hand of his lord during the feast of the Day of Brand, the day of men like them, and, despite not being surprised when he’s offered a few red ribs along with his bowl of stew, Erhardt is pleased. Werner isn’t kind: he kills and he murders for a living. He raids the land and commands men as low or even lower than himself. Yet he is a man of his word and he promised Erhardt retribution. So, despite the humiliation, that night the stag tastes like a little piece of victory. Retribution. Erhardt can picture it perfectly from his place by Werner and for that moment the sweet taste of victory and the promise of vengeance is more real than the grass below him and the skies above him when he is among his peers and by Olberic’s side. It fuels him, it keeps him alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to@WinterShiny here on ao3 for her hard work as always and enduring my writer's block right beside me.
> 
> This chapter is pretty much based on Tywin Lannister's character introduction in the Game of Thrones show, I thought it could sort of fit the teacher-student kind of dynamic he has with Erhardt.
> 
> Now, the important announcements: I'm not sure if I'll have next chaper ready for the 24th but I'm trying my best. However, I'm pretty sure I won't be able to keep up with the updates because my finals are rather close. I'm sorry. To make up for it, next week's update is going to be longest by now so I hope you enjoy my early (or if I'm less lucky, late) Christmas present.
> 
> Finally, thank all of you for reading and all of your nice comments.


	15. Sunlander's Taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Their journey to the Woodlands is going to be a long and exhausting one and all of them can understand their companion’s rush to see her master with her own eyes. However, they have managed to convince her to rest at Wellspring for a day or two as they stock up for their journey northwards. It was only a matter of time before Captain Bale invited them for a drink as they narrated their quest."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song**: Actually, there is no song for this one, sorry. I thought about a few options but it was too long and no-one could fit every scene propperly  
> Tags: spoilers from H'aanit ch4, weird food, tarot?, irresponsible drinking, drinking games, Primrose attempting to flirt with Bale, averted sex. (How do I tag this? Help.)
> 
> Also, I warn you that this chapter is likely to be the longest (though I'm not sure about a few that will come in the future). Since it is nearly 9k, I was talking with WinterShiny, my beta, on whether I should upload it as a separate story or not but I don't think it would make much sense without the context of D&S. That said, I hope you enjoy the update, you can consider it my early Christmas present to all of you.

“And so fell the great beast: an amalgam of dreadful darkness, thick as night itself, crumbled before us. Its distorted form fell to pieces as its uncanny shape deformed into nothingness. With a shriek of pain and agony that felt almost human to our tired ears, the fearful creature disappeared as dust in the wind and so did its curse.” Cyrus’ storytelling abilities, though rather long, are always delivered with certain passion. Everyone on the table can tell. “We stared in awe as its victims regenerated from stone to flesh, blood running freely through their veins once more, and their wills freed. Once the beast was slain, as w-”

“Prithee, professor… I can assure thee there is no excitement in what thoust wanted to tell now.” H’aanit tries to brush off the rest of her great finale. Olberic knows she prefers her actions to speak for her, not the debt of a king on her.

She looks rather tired; everyone is. It’s been days since they left Marsalim, without taking a rest there after slaying Redeye. Their journey to the Woodlands is going to be a long and exhausting one and all of them can understand their companion’s rush to see her master with her own eyes. However, they have managed to convince her to rest at Wellspring for a day or two as they stock up for their journey northwards. It was only a matter of time before Captain Bale invited them for a drink as they narrated their quest.

A few of the town’s guards have picked up chairs to listen to them too, already asking for more of their stories. They have pulled a few tables together for all of them and share large plates of food. Olberic notices Tressa’s eyes brightening up suddenly and then she covers her mouth as if she’s struggling to not laugh. He turns around to take a look at whatever she’s seen just to see Erhardt gesturing the table to keep quiet as he sneaks behind Captain Bale.

Erhardt waits until Bale is taking a sip from his drink to lean closer to his ear. “You thought you could hide something from me, huh?” Captain Bale nearly jumps off his chair, startled.

He turns around, and for a second he looks like he could murder Erhardt right on the spot. “You sneaky bastard…” He sighs as Tressa and Alfyn laugh at him. “I knew you’d come around soon, Sir. You’d have to cook otherwise.” Therion raises an eyebrow from his seat. “Also, last to the table pays for the next round.”

Erhardt shakes his head. He’s going a need a few walks to carry all the drinks to their table so Olberic is already rising up to help him. “Anyone who helps me will get another drink.” Alfyn is nearly running to Erhardt’s side and waiting beside him like an overexcited puppy. Olberic joins them as well, even if it’s only to assure the drinks actually make it to the table despite Alfyn’s efforts.

“It’s a shame you’ve arrived late, Sir.” Alfyn watches as the barkeeper fills their tankards with shiny, hopeful eyes. “Cyrus was narrating our fight against Redeye just a while ago. Ah, maybe I should ask him to do it again so you can listen, Sir.” He is beaming as Erhardt orders a second ale for him.

Olberic isn’t so sure about his great plan. “Please, don’t.” Alfyn pouts. “Therion has already said he’s going to pick up his backpack and leave if he does.” He won’t though, no one believes he could at this point.

He looks alarmed “Shucks! Has he? Please, Sir, don’t ask him then, I’m sorry. I’ll tell you myself.” No one believes it except for inebriated Alfyn, or so it seems. He shouldn’t have let him drink with his stomach empty. Now he doubts he can get him to their rooms later even with Ophilia’s help.

Erhardt leans in to ask the barkeeper for something else and tells Alfyn and him just to wait for it as they carry all the drinks to their table. Erhardt is back a moment later, carrying a large plate. Tressa is soon on her feet, all over him, trying to get the first bite. Then she stops right in her tracks to look at the mysterious plate, mortified. Beside Primrose, Captain Bale sighs in disgust.

However, Erhardt is delighted. “Here is a personal favorite of Sunlander cuisine. I hope you enjoy it too.” Olberic should have expected something like this but how could he? He warily eyes the fried scorpions seasoned with various kinds of pepper and vegetables. Every single one of them goes deathly quiet for an impressively long second.

That’s when Primrose squeals in thrill and takes a bite without giving it a second thought. Olberic and nearly the whole table close their eyes at the crunching noise of the fried exoskeleton. Olberic takes a sip, knowing without a doubt that this night is going to be rather long. Trapped between Primrose and Erhardt, Captain Bale nods at him and drinks too, downing more of his mug than he probably should.

Once the crunching is over, Primrose smiles, delighted. “Sir, I think we should get lime liquor to match.”

“With paprika on the rim.” Primrose shows her support for Erhardt’s argument wholeheartedly. They lean closer together to discuss food that should not be considered edible. Avoiding Erhardt between them, Olberic could swear the captain is asking for his help.

Cyrus joins them in their heated discussion on traditional dishes from the Sunlands. Turns out Primrose deeply dislikes fried grasshoppers but all three of them agree on smoked slices of snake with black pepper to be their favorite. They are talking about different kinds of bread without yeast when both Alfyn and Tressa try to give it a go. They keep their expression blank for a while but only Tressa manages to finish her piece. though judging by her expression, she probably regrets it.

A few more of them are brave enough to try too before all of their food is gone and they are satisfactorily full. They pile up the dishes afterwards. Tressa joyfully says that she feels like playing some card games, so she tries to get Therion’s deck of cards unsuccessfully. He gets up and holds it over her head mockingly until H’aanit gets the deck without any issue. Then the real argument begins. There are too many people to play poker, blackjack or most games properly.

Suddenly, Ophilia raises her hand, politely waiting for her turn to speak. “I think…we could play this game I know… Have you ever heard about The Werewolves of Wispermill?” Both Alfyn and Tressa squeal happily and begin explaining the rules quickly, barely being able to breathe.

“So we have to vote for a person to lynch everyday, right? Isn’t this game a tad too violent for a sister of the faith?” Primrose asks with a smug smile.

Looking at her glass of juice, Ophilia avoids eye contact as her ears go red. “Well, my sister and I used to play with other kids sometimes…” Behind the archbishop’s back most likely. Therion points that out to Ophilia’s embarrassment.

Being the most experienced player at the table, she picks up the role as moderator for the first game. Olberic admits that it would have been more exciting if Cyrus hadn’t nearly revealed his card to ask her a question in the first minute of play. That’s mostly how the villagers won and Cyrus was killed and revealed to be a wolf on the first round. After a second game moderated by Tressa in which the wolves actually win, she and Ophilia finally retire for the night. It isn’t that late but it is late enough for alcohol to run across the table with a little less care than usual; they are celebrating after all.

Therion picks up his deck and shuffles it once again without even taking a look. Alfyn asks him to teach him how to do it that quickly without bending the cards or damaging the edges. He’s rather clumsy and Therion tells him just to cut the cards as usual or he’s buying him another new shiny deck. Both Primrose and Bale try to teach him different ways to shuffle too. Olberic isn’t surprised by Primrose but that wasn’t what one would expect from the captain. Both Primrose and Therion look at him, fixated as he cuts the cards with ease and tries to show Alfyn the trick behind it.

However, it isn’t either of them who ask but instead H’aanit. “Where didst thou learne?” She is pretty straightforward.

Leaving the deck on the table, Bale smiles faintly. “Long ago, from a good friend of mine, a fortune-teller. A beautiful dangerous woman.” It doesn’t take Olberic to know that a man as private as the captain has to be at least sort of intoxicated to give such personal details. “The kind who wears her shirts open, with a machete and a crossbow always ready for trouble, eyes red from smoking on her pipe the whole day.” He can see how Primrose almost touches his shoulder in a reassuring way but Erhardt shakes his head. He must know better but Olberic feels like he should be of help too.

H’aanit frowns, unsure. “A seer. I have a question for thee if thou couldst answer.”

He looks at her with some slight surprise but smiles anyway, pleased. “I’ll only need a tarot deck.” Therion is quick to get his poker deck back in his pocket and give him another pretty worn out deck. “Shuffle how you like and ask your question.”

She is clumsier than Therion or Primrose but she avoids making any further damage to the cards. Once she is done, she gives Bale the deck. They have already made some space on the table for the session. “As thou already knowst, that Redeye creature had an unsettling aura. I failed to readeth it as a beast. I cannot help but to fear it was something greater. On our journeys, we have facen many… strange odds and I can feel a superior hazard on our path…” All of them stay quiet as H’aanit voices her thoughts slowly. “So tellen me, seer. What peril awaits for us?”

Bale has his eyes closed until H’aanit’s question is over. Then he opens them and picks the first ten cards in the deck without looking at them. He begins doing a complex layout in front of H’aanit, with the cards still face-down on the table. “This one represents the present.” He lays another card crossed over the first one. “This one, the challenge you’ll have to face. This one represents the past,” He leaves the card close to the other two. “and this one, the future.” He says as he leaves another card on the opposite side of the first pair. Above those two he places a new card down. “This card is your goal: the best outcome possible.” H’aanit pierces that card with her eyes. “And then below we have: the feelings associated with your issue, what is truly driving you.” He leaves that cross of cards and begins forming some kind of rising tower close to it. “Here I offer you my advice. Then, you’ll find the external influences: people and events that may shape the outcome and are beyond your control. This one is both your hopes and fears: be careful whilst contemplating on its meaning. And last but not least, we find the outcome to your question.”

Even Therion has run out of snarky remarks to make as they listen closely, waiting for the cards to finally be turned. Olberic has never considered himself a believer of divination but with alcohol in his veins and those words still heavy on his mind, Bale’s work looks more like an art. “Do as you willst.” H’aanit gives him permission to actually begin his reading.

Bale takes a few slow breaths before turning the first card over: a beautifully painted wheel with depictions of a man in different stages of his life. “Right now you’ll face a series of unexpected events and your path shall open before you with apparent good omens and certain fortune. You have completed your quest, right?” She nods. “Maybe it means your master is finally safe and well.” However, he frowns as he looks at the next card. Olberic leans closer to take a look at the figure of a skeleton holding a scythe on a field of black lilies. “However, on your path you’ll face loss and failure, maybe even death. Pretty much like your present, you should be wary of the unexpected, so be perceptive.”

H’aanit takes a closer look at the card with sharp eyes. It’s worn with age and the field of flowers is almost gray by now instead of black. However, there’s some macabre beauty to it.

Next comes a hanged man upside down, it almost looks like he is standing up, were it not for the tense rope holding him from falling. “Taking a look at the past, you might realize your issue is deeply linked to some kind of former useless sacrifice: be it material or emotional. Someone who was, or maybe still is, related to your question, gave much of themselves for the matter without success. Or maybe it was taken away from them.” Olberic greatly dislikes where this is leading but he won’t say a word. He knows the captain means them no harm at all, yet Olberic can’t help feeling uneasy as an instinctive fear runs down his back.

The next card Bale laid turns out to be a picture of a large brutal beast with horns, wings spread wide and a merciless tail. It smirks from its place on the paper dangerously, as if it could jump out of it at any given chance to eat whoever had dared to look at it. “Once again, beware of the unexpected, H’aanit. Disaster and great fury awaits your path.” A night sky full of many moons and their reflection on a lake, showing its many phases. The card is upside down since the lake is above and the sky below. “In a best case scenario, you will be able to uncover the truth and prepare yourself properly before you face true danger.”

Therion frowns and looks up with a wary expression. “You could just be making this shit up as you go.” Alfyn tries to calm him down with a hand on his shoulder but Therion is not having any of it. “What do you have to say about that, eh? Are you lying?”

However, Bale doesn’t look annoyed. He is going to take a sip from his drink when he realizes it’s empty. “Who knows, maybe I am. After all, I have no affinity for magic. But since when is card reading about actually ‘seeing the future’?” Therion glares at him - probably with strong opinions on the matter. “I doubt anyone could actually do that. It’s all about perceptiveness. You consider many matters, like the client’s personality, the nature of their question, past decisions they have taken…and then you bring the cards to the game. Which aspects of each card to voice? Should I give a piece of advice or warn them against a danger they haven’t realized for themselves yet?”

Olberic feels mostly pleased with his answer and he can tell both Alfyn and Cyrus are intrigued as well. On their journeys they had never encountered something that might resemble some kind of divination magic. Maybe there isn’t such a thing at all, or maybe not as they can picture it. Therion pouts and crosses his arms over his chest. “So you are just saying it doesn’t require any kind of special ability and anyone could do that.”

Beside Primrose, H’aanit sighs heavily. “If thou thinkst so, why art thou not doing it?” Therion doesn’t answer and she has to shake her head to clear her thoughts once again. “Please, continue.”

“Alright.” Bale reveals the image of a well-built young woman, carrying a sword in her right hand as her left hand rests atop the head of a white lion. Despite the situation, Olberic feels Erhardt chuckling under his breath. He can understand why. It looks almost like H’aanit herself was inside that piece of paper. “This one is quite easy. Your feelings toward this matter seem to be rather close to those concerning your original quest: conviction, determination… Considering your wording, I could say you are also driven by action as you have barely ended your story and are already asking about what awaits for you.” Bale snorts quietly, without meaning any harm. He takes a quick look at the picture of the elderly man walking with a wooden staff sitting on the roots of a large willow. “I suggest to keep the same general attitude that you’ve carried until now. Be decisive, be final, commit. As you are likely to have noticed already, the unexpected, the unknown seems to be trying to trick you, so be perceptive and try to uncover the truth before the situation gets dire.” 

He gently touches the card of the Moon and goes right for the next one. Much like the previous card, this one shows an elderly man. However, where the other seemed wise and humble, this one looks regal. The card is reversed and Olberic has little hope for that to mean something good. “The reverse Emperor is usually a symbol of domination or inflexibility. Since it concerns the external influences it could mean someone close to you or maybe someone who could oppose you has such an attitude. Their resolve is strong despite their methods being incorrect, so beware.”

Bale stops for a while without turning the last two remaining cards on the table and Primrose shifts closer to him, hand light on his upper arm. The gesture is so subtle that had Olberic not known her for so long it would have easily gone over his head. “Please, don’t keep us waiting now, not so close to the end.” Was it someone other than Primrose, Olberic would be unsure whether she was mocking him or trying to allure him but he knows she can multitask.

“But we have time now, right?” He looks completely oblivious to her attempts. Olberic smiles as Erhardt leans closer to him and covers his grin with his tankard. “Maybe you are right, my lady. I’ll get to work now, if you allow me.” H’aanit nods and she allows him. A tower crumbling from the sky and set aflame. Several pieces of wall are fleeting on the sky, not quite falling. “This card shows us your fears and hopes so it could be difficult to decipher. Once more, The Tower represents the unexpected but it is also associated with abandonment or the end of a phase. Maybe you could be struggling, unsure of what the future may bring you as all eight of you finish your duties. Be cautious whilst making a final decision.” That is probably quite right and not only for H’aanit. His own duty is over but he does not travel only for himself, not now. However, once all is said and done, what is left for them? Olberic wishes for them to at least keep in touch; to write frequently. Will their friendship die down with time? Gods forbid it. Finally, an angel in a chariot of flames, playing a large war horn. “This is the outcome to your question: even further than whichever peril awaits for you. It’s the time for judgment, for renewal. To regrow greater and larger.” He makes a light gesture with his hand. “So this is it. Take care with the unknown, for this is a great chance for growth but the risk is large too.”

H’aanit rises from her seat and offers him a light nod. “I thank thee, seer. Thine words will prove helpful.” H’aanit scratches the back of her neck awkwardly for a second. “Now, if you excusen me, I’ll leave for tonight.”

Bale shakes his head. “First, my payment.” H’aanit blinks in confusion since it’s actually him who gives her money. “Please, go fetch us a bottle for shots. That bright green one, top shelf. My treat.”

Erhardt whistles. “I see you are going right for the hard stuff there.”

Right after H’aanit brings the bottle to their table, Cyrus leans forward, trying to read the label. “Herbal? Once we finish this bottle could I suggest the next one?” One often forgets that the professor isn’t the lightweight he looks like.

Next to him, Alfyn gives H’aanit his puppy eyes. “Please, stay. It’s still early and we can play some games and do something fun if you want to.”

It takes H’aanit a while to answer him and not give in to his whims. H’aanit ruffles his hair playfully yet keeps a straight face. “I cannot. I’m rather tired and I want to discuss the reading with sister Ophilia, shall she be awake yet.”

Olberic actually feels Erhardt beside him trying his best to avoid giving a snarky remark. He tries but he isn’t strong enough. “Are you planning to actually knock this time?” Olberic nudges him, not quite softly, between his ribs but Erhardt doesn’t complain, he knows it serves him right. H’aanit flees without any further explanation.

For a second, it looks like Alfyn is going to ask but Therion covers his mouth with his hand. “I’m perfectly fine not knowing what is going on and I want to keep it that way. Thank you.” Then he lets Alfyn speak again.

Primrose casts Erhardt a side glance and she begins reading the glass for the shots. She was there too so she knows the issue with H’aanit’s habit of never knocking before opening a door and her bad timing. “Alfyn, you said you wanted to play some games.” He nods, suddenly forgetting about H’aanit’s prompt exit. “What were you thinking about?”

“Oh, well… I was thinking that maybe we could play ‘never have I ever’ or something like that?” Alfyn barely leaves anyone on the table time to speak before he is shaking his hands in front of him. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to… It’s a bit childish s-”

“I’m in.” Therion is actually the last person Olberic thought would actually stand by Alfyn. “I could get some interesting blackmailing material from this.” He isn’t fooling anyone since Therion probably just wants to play as much as Alfyn. “Though I don’t know how to feel about a game Cyrus is the most likely to win…”

Cyrus just shakes his head. “I know that is how you actually show affection. May I suggest another way to try to deceive me next time?”

One by one, all of them agree to play. Olberic knows that, in spite of Therion’s threat to use whatever information he might find out against them, he is unlikely to remember all of it. With that in mind, he doesn’t think as much about taking the risk. Since it was Alfyn who asked, he should begin the game. Alfyn struggles at first, frowning and looking at his glass.

“Never have I ever been arrested.”

“You fucker!” Therion kicks Alfyn lightly under the table but Alfyn just laughs loudly as he takes his shot. “No targeting or you’ll find no mercy from me here.” He warns everyone at the table. “Never have I ever eaten bugs.”

Most of the table complain about his question. He knows that at least most of them have, since he’s actually seen them do it not even two hours ago. They argue for a while about fair play but after a few unsuccessful rounds of trying to play like a civilized group of adults they give up on their ‘no targeting’ rule. Most of the bottle is down by then and Cyrus orders the next one, a slender yellow bottle of limoncello.

“Southern Coastland made!” Cyrus tries to avoid answering Alfyn as he asks how he could fall asleep during a lecture he was giving himself.

As the war rages at their table, Olberic catches a glimpse of Primrose leaning further onto Bale’s arm, feet on their bench. Beside him, he can tell Erhardt finds his captain’s obliviousness hilarious, almost rival to the professor’s. During another merciless question aimed right for Therion, Olberic puts his arm around Erhardt’s shoulders with an ease that only comes from familiarity and alcohol. Erhardt shifts, leaning most of his back onto Olberic’s side, just like they used to do long ago. Erhardt whispers into Olberic’s neck as Therion complains loudly again about the game. “Do you think we should target them? It looks so easy…”

Erhardt’s warm breath on his neck sends shivers down his spine but Olberic manages to remember to shake his head. “Let them be, Erhardt.” There is still almost another whole round before it’s their turn again and Therion hasn’t shown any mercy for the whole evening so it’s unlikely he will do it now.

Erhardt cracks his shoulders, making enough room for himself. “Are you against me then, Olberic?” If he were not using Olberic as a chair’s back, he could almost sound serious. “Because if it’s war you want, that’s what you’ll-”

“Never have I ever flirted with anyone at least ten years older than me.” Alfyn looks right at Primrose as he smiles innocently and Olberic struggles to breathe through his coughing. Therion, Bale and her take their shots in dead silence. Too late.

As he reaches to fill his glass again, Therion mutters something under his breath. He then speaks rather louder than he needs to. “Well, then… Never have I ever been the…’object of affection’ of a minor under my wing.” He speaks the words as if they burn him and Olberic has no doubt the question is actually directed at Cyrus but it catches all three of them as collateral casualties. Bale hasn’t even filled his glass when he has to take another shot. Erhardt and him are luckier. Olberic can tell that Erhardt is rather worried about Bale, just as he is about Therion, who usually backs away before he’s had too much.

Blinking slowly, Bale answers Primrose’s many questions about the issue. “Squires…squires be like that…sometimes.”

Erhardt laughs loudly at that, hiding his face within his hands. “Do you remember, Olberic?” He begs the Gods to deliver him mercy, so that Erhardt will spare him the suffering. However, his prayers remain unanswered. Across the table, both Primrose and Cyrus beg for the story. “We were in a tournament. Olberic and I have always disliked carrying squires around so we used to be ‘given’ squires during formal events just like the one I’m talking about.” Erhardt especially hated having kids that weren’t even of age following him around with barely no knowledge of what they were doing. “I got this mess of a child…just like a headless chicken. But that isn’t the issue at hand.” Bale knows him so he eyes Erhardt warily. “Now, let’s discuss Sir Olberic’s given squire.”

“Truth be told, Conrad was the best squire any of us had ever had.” He owes him that much merit.

Erhardt snorts. “Of course he was. He had external motivation.” Primrose leans forward into the table, waiting for all the information. Her cheeks are pink and her gaze is unfocused from drinking; Olberic doubts he’s ever seen her in such a state.

However, Therion rises suddenly, blinking quickly to adjust his eyesight. “Before you begin,” He uses the table to support his own weight. “I’m out of here.”

Therion moves with effort and Olberic stands to help him to his room. He must be worse than he thought because he doesn’t deny his help. Actually, Olberic doesn’t want to listen to that old story again. Maybe it’s because he was oblivious until Erhardt pointed out his squire’s actual wording. However, he is proud he wrote that recommendation letter to his second option. Therion leans on his shoulder when they are halfway the up stairs and Olberic reaches to support his back.

“Are you going back?” He asks mid-yawn.

Olberic nods and waits until Therion is moving on his own again. “Most likely.” He probably shouldn’t but it’s been a long time since he had this much alcohol.

“Gods above. You are not in your right mind, are you?” Therion huffs, leaning on the wall as he climbs up the stair. “Try to make sure no one gets alcohol poisoning, will you?”

He reads right past his facade with easiness. Not that Therion manages to be a great challenge once he’s gone way over his limit. “If you are worried about us you can just say so.” Olberic feels his eyes open wide and search for anything to hold on to as Therion tries to push him down the stairs, but he fails in his attempt. He tries to look as serious as he can but is unsuccessful as he laughs loudly.

“Fuck off!” Therion’s expression is soft despite his words and he lets Olberic walk him to the room he shares with Alfyn without any further struggles.

Olberic is back shortly afterwards, unharmed by the stairs. It’s already late into the night as Primrose squeals happily, she has probably just come up with another question to throw at her new foolish victim. “Never have I ever been seen naked by H’aanit.”

Alfyn coughs loudly, staring as Erhardt fills his glass once again. She grins victoriously until Olberic stands right next to Erhardt, trying to recall something. “Primrose, we have been to hot springs.” And more than just once, if that matters.

She frowns through her intoxication, trying her best to remember but Alfyn is already readying her glass. “Oh, yeah. That really backfired, didn’t it?” She takes her defeat with pride and so does Erhardt, trying to maneuver through Alfyn’s many questions on the issue. Primrose gets her fair share about how she knows.

Right over the discussion about what could be considered peeping and what couldn’t, Cyrus waves at Olberic, trying his best to draw his attention. He waits until he is beside him, to avoid raising his voice at this ungodly hour despite it not seeming to bother their companions much. “How is Therion?” Cyrus looks at the short glass between his hands. “Do you think something I said could have annoyed him?”

A few months ago, Olberic would have answered that anything could annoy Therion but now he shakes his head. “He actually asked me to watch out so none of us get alcohol poisoning.”

Cyrus stares at him, eyes open wide and a faint smile on his lips. “He has really come a long way since we met him, right?” He wipes a tear of laughter from his eye. “Please, do not tell Primrose: she will not let him live through it.” He whispers to the air, thinking the others’ conversation is enough to mask his words.

“Who won’t I let live through what?” He is soon proven wrong.

Across the table, Erhardt gestures for him to come back as he fills their glasses once again. Olberic doesn’t need to be sober to know that he is indeed trying to stop Primrose from asking further questions. “Never have I ever had to confiscate sensitive content from a minor under my wing.” He takes the shot as soon as the words leave his mouth. Bale and Olberic stare at each other for a long time over Erhardt’s head with blank expressions until they both look elsewhere and drink as well. “Professor Albright! No lying!” Erhardt accuses, drawing Primrose’s attention back to himself.

“I am not. My pupils would never engage in such behavior.” He doesn’t sound as sure as he wants to and that causes a general laughter.

“Not even written content?” Primrose pokes at his sides, teasing him even further. “Who knows what a lady’s diary may hide, professor.” She smiles slyly.

Alfyn looks at her as if she has grown a second head. “Have you ever written erotica, Prim?”

She doesn’t answer upright. “That is not the game we are playing.”

Alfyn may be as drunk as one can be but he still manages to get what she means. “Never have I ever written erotica.”None of them are surprised when Primrose takes her glass in hand but Olberic stares warily at Erhardt when he raises his hand, like a schoolboy waiting patiently for his turn.

“Do suggestive letters count as erotica?” Olberic blinks, hardly believing him. If they weren’t so tired he could think Erhardt did it on purpose.

“Thank you for the idea. Never have I ever written a suggestive letter.” Erhardt gives Bale a glare. If only looks could kill…then neither of them would have to fill their glasses.

 

“Bale, Bale…” Erhardt pokes at his sides, trying to confirm whether his captain is alive or not. He grunts painfully, holding his face with his hands. “What time do we have our shifts tomorrow?” Erhardt only remembers to ask once Cyrus says he should call it a night.

The bottle of limoncello is empty and they get halfway through another bottle of absinthe Erhardt ordered a while ago. Primrose keeps an eye on Alfyn as he walks upstairs, leaning on the railing too much for her liking. She is almost sure he could actually fall over but can’t bring herself to do much about it without worsening the situation.

“Bale? Gods be merciful… I don’t think I can carry you home right now, Bale!” His captain isn’t being helpful but he doesn’t resist as Erhardt puts his arm around his own shoulders and holds him close by the waist, trying to lift him up. The keyword is trying. Bale isn’t especially tall but enough to make Erhardt struggle carrying him because of his height, knees still slightly bending and feet now quite touching the ground.

Olberic can’t help but laugh. Then he puts Bale’s other arm around his shoulders as Erhardt gives him a quizzical expression. “Lead the way.” He is tired but he can tell Erhardt was pretty close to wanting to leave Bale be; he wouldn’t have though, no matter what he says.

“No. You stay here.” He doesn’t let go of Bale either so he just hangs awkwardly between the two of them, blinking and trying to adjust to the weird position. “I’m not making you walk back across a village you don’t know in the dead of the night when you can climb a set of stairs and rest right now.”

“Good thing then that I’m doing that on my own.”

Erhardt tries to bring Primrose to his side of the argument but she is way too tired to deal with them so she excuses herself for the night as she checks that Alfyn made it upstairs alive. He mutters something under his breath and finally lets Olberic carry Bale on his own. He opens the bottle and takes a sip despite Olberic’s judgmental look, then he turns around and smiles smugly.

It’s been many years since the last time they drunk this much together but he hasn’t changed one bit. “Do you actually like that?” Because it tastes awful for him. “I could ask Alfyn for a bottle of rubbing alcohol, throw a pound of sugar into it and you’d gladly drink it without blinking…”

He holds the door open for them both and there is no shame at all in his voice as he speaks: “You are right.” And he steps forward a short distance to actually lead their path.

Olberic can barely see thanks to the dim street lights so he appreciates not getting lost. His eyes feel sore from being inside the inn’s common room for so long, gaze dizzy from bright lighting and heavy drinking. The night breeze is much cooler than one would dare say at first. Thankfully, captain Bale is already mostly walking for himself. He doesn’t quite sound coherent but that’s an improvement. He mumbles about his reading and complains about his shift. Olberic spots that Erhardt is turned around, looking at them, a rather small pout on his lips. He wants to ask if he thinks that Bale is going to be alright left alone.

Erhardt grabs Olberic’s upper arm with care long gone in plain sight, trying to reassure him. It made him think he had everything under control, no matter how dire the situation might have been. “I’ve done this before. He’ll be up like a clock.” He isn’t lying, not that he has a reason to do that but Olberic finds comfort in knowing he isn’t.

They talk quietly, keeping their voices down as they laugh about poor Cyrus’s expression when asked about his pupils’ most questionable hobbies or Therion’s sudden need to disappear. Primrose’s unsuccessful attempts will have to wait until Bale is safely tucked into bed but it’d be worth the delay. Olberic stares as Erhardt plays absentmindedly with a bunch of keys.

He stops him suddenly by a small house and opens the door with them. “Hold these for me.” Erhardt hands Olberic both the keys and the bottle as he picks up Bale bridal style and lifts him off the ground. Bale complains, trying to nudge at Erhardt with his elbow but he is far too tired to actually mind if he hits or not.

Olberic listens to some quiet rumble coming from inside the house but he knows better than to step in. Erhardt can take good care of whatever is going on. By now he rests against the wall, his arm feels slightly sore from carrying the captain home from to the other side of Wellspring; so he rolls his shoulder until his bones crack and he sighs in bliss. Even if only for a short moment, Olberic considers taking a short sip from Erhardt’s bottle but he can’t stand the smell.

Standing close to the door, Erhardt laughs quietly at the face he is probably making. He is just as tired as Olberic, eyes sore and head close to collapse. “Toss me the keys.” He frowns as Olberic hands them to him lazily, not quite content with being ignored. Erhardt takes a long while closing the door. At first, Olberic thinks he could be struggling with getting the key in the hole but he is just looking at his feet with a fixated expression upon his face. He doesn’t say a word until he locks the door and turns around. “I will accompany you the inn.” It doesn’t sound like a question.

That is a game that they both can play. “No, you are not.” They can argue until the Sun is upon them and setting back in the west but Olberic hopes he can convince him sooner than that.

“If I am not, then you are coming with me.” Erhardt throws the bunch of keys angrily into his pocket as Olberic stares in intoxicated disbelief. There is no shame or hidden intentions in Erhardt’s face as he awaits for Olberic to draw back and let him walk him to the inn.

However, Olberic doesn’t react how he would if he were he sober. He blinks, instead, mouth open ajar, still trying to work out whether Erhardt’s words were a joke or not. “Do you mean it?” His own voice sounds alien to himself.

Hand still in his pocket, Erhardt seems to realize what he just said. He frowns and takes a closer look at Olberic, gulping. He crosses his arms over his chest, as if trying to protect himself from an imaginary blow. “I have lied to you many times but why would I do so now?” He even closes his eyes, bags under them clearly visible despite the poor lighting conditions.

“I see. I fear I don’t remember the path.” He throws caution out of the window. Not that there is much caution left to throw anyway since Erhardt began traveling with them a few months ago. It is too late to be cautious and Olberic is in too deep to care. They are still in pain and that won’t change overnight but Gods know it is helpful to have someone by your side that understands too well.

Erhardt had been holding his breath and Olberic watches as his shoulders relax with a heartfelt sigh. Neither of them move for a couple of long seconds, then Erhardt takes his wrist with his spare hand tightly, tugging softly. Erhardt’s hair is already graying, just like his own, but he still manages to look like he did back then. “Let’s go home then.”

He doesn’t know how to answer but it doesn’t matter. Erhardt pulls his wrist gently, urging him. He can catch up with his quick pace in a few steps and that seems to bother Erhardt. He adjusts his hand into Olberic’s and picks up speed without a warning. Olberic balances himself on the wall of a close building and nearly runs after him. It’s been a long time since Olberic last found himself in a similar position but it feels familiar. Erhardt’s messy hair and the weight of his hand, his gaze as he checks that Olberic is following him every few steps. He faintly remembers a memory from long ago, barely an echo from easier times. Olberic can tell that such almost childish whims have grown seldom so he obliges. He doesn’t even think about it for a second.

They aren’t even close to Erhardt’s home when he suddenly stops right in his tracks and Olberic barely manages not to run into him. Erhardt holds his upper arm with his spare hand, keeping Olberic in place. Somehow that feels familiar too. Erhardt’s hand lingers there for a long moment, not letting go of him. At first, he doesn’t realize Erhardt is tip-toeing but then he frowns. “Olberic, I need you to cooperate over here.” Erhardt can’t reach for him all the way. Olberic won’t say it’s endearing for his own safety but that’s the only thing that stops him now that his judgment is clouded.

Olberic already leaning in, knees bending carefully to meet him halfway. They both smell of alcohol and dust; from this close he can feel Erhardt’s warm breath and the freezing tip of his nose pressed against his own. Then he remembers. “Erhardt,” He hums back, eyes nearly closed. He remembers that he used to keep his eyes open to kiss, even if it weirded him out a bit. “you ate scorpions.”

Suddenly, Erhardt pushes him back. “You couldn’t say anything else, right?” He shakes his head, disappointed. Olberic blinks, confused by his reaction and then pinches the bridge of his nose in embarrassment. He tries to apologize but Erhardt raises a hand to stop him and takes another sip from the already nearly empty bottle. He sighs heavily. “Oh, no. Now you are going to wait nicely until we get home.”

The way home is painfully long for both of them. Erhardt is obviously trying his best to pretend he is still annoyed with Olberic. However, he doesn’t go back on his words easily so Olberic considers himself lucky that he didn’t pretend to get lost either to make him wait even longer. Erhardt impatiently pushes the bottle for Olberic to hold as he hurries for his keys. Though he doesn’t realize at first glance, his movements are rather uncoordinated and clumsier than usual. The keys nearly slip from his hold but he manages to catch them before they hit the ground. Erhardt takes a deep breath and lets it go, closing his eyes tightly, then he manages to actually open the door. Inside it is pitch black and Olberic can barely see anything more than five inches from his face.

He guesses Erhardt has stepped inside, hanging the keys…somewhere. “I’ll be upstairs.” Olberic has some mild blurry image of room’s layout thanks to the last time he was there, months ago. “Get yourself comfortable.” He walks away and Olberic can’t see him anymore.

He is left there alone and in the dark. Olberic closes the door once he is in and tries to navigate the place slowly, avoiding stepping on any furniture, as his eyes try to get used to the scarce lighting. He feels the wall with his hand, where he thinks Erhardt could have left his keys. He is thankful that Erhardt doesn’t have any pictures hanging from his walls because he would have broken them before he actually got to the keys. Then he struggles trying to figure out which one is his and which one is Bale’s. He succeeds on his second go and the keys don’t slip from his hands as he hangs them back in place either. Bottle still in hand, Olberic decides he should leave it somewhere safe. Maybe he’ll be able to find candles in the kitchen too.

It takes him a while and by the time he has a source of light, he is frustrated, more than he has been in a long time. Olberic clumsily unbuckles some of his armor, trying to get as much weight off his shoulders as he can. Some fastenings get stuck and he has to redo his work before it undoes neatly. He finds the stairs where he last remembered them from the previous time he was here. Olberic begins climbing them, careful not to make any noise that could awaken some of Erhardt’s neighbors. There is no source of light coming from the attic Erhardt uses as a room but he doesn’t give it a thought at first.

Not until he is able to take a look at the staircase. First he spots discarded remains of Erhardt’s clothing, left carelessly on the floor as he made his way to the top floor. However, there is no greeting as he steps into the room, only the peaceful and calm sound of deep breathing. Olberic shouldn’t be surprised when he takes a look only to find Erhardt laying on his side of the bed naked as the day he was born, sleeping heavily. He is hugging his pillow as tight as he can, burying his face into it. He hasn’t woken due to the light because there is no way he could be able to see the light at all. Erhardt shifts in his sleep, shivering with a cool breeze that comes from the open window.

Olberic sighs tiredly. He leaves the candle on the table and turns around to close the window. Maybe he should go, he thinks it would probably be for the best. However, he doubts he would be able to make it to the inn at a decent hour. He and Erhardt know each other well enough to know that he can stay. Erhardt gave him explicit permission to do so, indeed. So Olberic takes off as much of his clothes as he is comfortable with and tries to get the blankets from under Erhardt. He hogs them as soon as Olberic tries to cover him, shifting unconsciously closer to Olberic’s warmth. Olberic doesn’t say a single word as he blows the candle out  and puts his right arm under Erhardt’s head to rest. They have slept in closer quarters before and it was hardly an issue, at least if they didn’t want it to be. It doesn’t have to be now. Quicker than he first feared, Erhardt’s even breathing brings him to unconsciousness too.

 

He wakes to a stark pain inside his skull, beating through it and his eyes and his ears. Olberic doesn’t open his eyes at first. He has slept in many inns since he began this journey and many more since he joined the military; however, when such is the case, he awakes more often than not alone. It wouldn’t be the first time any of his companions insisted on sleeping in close quarters either for warmth or for comfort. Olberic knows this isn’t one of those times. Erhardt’s hair tickles his nose and his arm is stuck under his weight. He still lays asleep as the first lights of day bathe the room through the painted window. Olberic thinks about trying to sleep for a while longer but he can’t bring himself to do it properly. His throat feels raw from talking and drinking and he needs to have some water before he begins to feel sick. He moves Erhardt aside with care, trying his best not to startle him. He hums in his sleep as Olberic is finally able to rise, regaining full control over his arm.

At first Olberic stands there in this alien room, unsure about what to do next. Were it anyone else, he could consider getting dressed as soon as possible and leaving but he can’t only not do that, he won’t. He goes downstairs instead and searches through Erhardt’s shelves, looking for something edible. He eyes the bottle of absinthe warily as he readies the pot for some tea. Surprisingly, Olberic finds oat biscuits and a few cans of peach jam hiding behind many cans of peaches. His voice sounds strange as he laughs, far too overused.

He settles a tray with something to eat and a couple of mugs of tea. He still remembers Erhardt likes his with milk rather than sugar. He is still asleep when he comes back to the room. He has turned around and the blankets curl between his legs. Olberic calls him softly for nearly a minute and Erhardt covers his face with the pillow dramatically, grunting something unintelligible.

“I bring you breakfast in bed and this is how you greet me?” That is enough to get Erhardt’s hungry attention. Erhardt moves aside, readjusting the sheets over his lap, trying to keep some false modesty between the two of them. “Be careful. It’s hot.” He gives Erhardt his mug and his warning falls on deaf ears as he takes a sip as soon as he can. Erhardt complains with his burnt tongue about the tea being hot, exactly what Olberic just said. “Who would have guessed you’d come to enjoy spicy food…?” The mix in the tea is comforting yet a tad too much for his liking.

“What else can I say?” Erhardt leaves his mug on the table as he tries to get most of his hair out of his face. “I’m quite familiar with Sunlander’s taste by now.” They chat casually on bed as they break fast, dancing blatantly around the subject. “We didn’t, right?” Erhardt already knows the answer but he asks either way. One of them had to.

Olberic shakes his head. “We didn’t.” Does he feel relief? Because Olberic partly does. A heavy weight lifts from Erhardt’s shoulders.

They talk about both trivial issues and the previous night, trying not to laugh at the other’s sore voice. “Do you think they’ll be up by now?” Erhardt asks right after theorizing about how Therese could be able to hide sensitive content from professor Cyrus, whom she holds so ‘close’.

“I doubt so, at least not most of them.” Chance is that Alfyn will stay in bed until lunchtime. “Maybe I should get going and pretend I spent the night there.” He isn’t sure if that would work at all.

“Don’t even try it. I’m pretty sure Primrose can smell lies.” Once he has finished his ration of biscuits and jam, he flexes his knees and hugs his legs closer to his chest. Erhardt grunts under his breath, hair once more covering his face. “I’ll go check whether Bale is alive or not in a while.” Looks like said while could take some time because he doesn’t move a single inch. Olberic knows his breathing pattern, that’s how he knows that he didn’t fall asleep again. “Olberic,” His voice is so quiet he has to focus to hear him at all. “before you go, would you mind braiding my hair?”

He isn’t used to seeing Erhardt anxious and uneasy and Olberic decides he dislikes it. With the way he is sitting, Olberic could count his vertebrae easily. When they met, Erhardt was so thin he could count his ribs but, luckily, they aren’t trainees living on lukewarm gruel day after day anymore and Erhardt’s build has become sturdier over the years. Olberic leans across the bed, rummaging through the drawer that he found Erhardt’s comb in the last time he was here. “Stay still.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to @WinterShiny for her help. I wouldn't be able to do any this without her.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this week's update. As for the next chapter's, I'll try to keep up with the dates but I'm not sure if I'll be able to make it because of my exams.
> 
> And at last but not least, thank all of you for checking out my work. I hope you have an amazing Christmas!


	16. Grass Below and Skies Above

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Erhardt turns around to pick up his mother’s lute, tuning it as he hums. [...] One last memento he holds closer to his heart than anything else. Yet as he plays a tune fitting for inns or the road, he doesn’t feel sorrowful but at ease. The wind and Olberic’s steady breath beside him, the grass below him, between his curled toes, and the warm skies above him; all of those things lift some weight from his heavy shoulders."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Around the Fire (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_-BiyUCXjdo)  
> Tags: pre-game, kids being kids, general teenager foolery, sparring (more like grappling), foodsharing, major fluff, first kiss, getting together, they are like 16 in this one.  
> (Also, guess who fucking wrote a fic with the Locus Amoenus literaly topo that is ancient af...? Yay, me.)

He gasps for air suddenly, eyes open wide after the hit. Erhardt doesn’t have time to double over in pain because Olberic is soon on him again, lifting him by his middle and tackling him to the ground. They both fall to the grass below them and roll on their backs for a while, their training swords long forgotten. They brawl tirelessly, trying to end up atop of the other as they roll down the small hill.

“You play dirty!” Erhardt complains he finally pins Olberic’s wrists to the ground, straddling him.

Below him, Olberic laughs loudly, his lungs full of air and joy. “Of course I do!” He flexes his legs so that Erhardt slides onto his stomach. Then he is able to break free and throw him to the ground on his back again. “Yield!”

They aren’t even fighting anymore, just turning and rolling on the grass nearly breathless. Olberic is atop of him quickly; faster than he looks. He tries to lean closer, putting his arms on the sides of Erhardt’s head and hips; but Erhardt thinks fast and he stops Olberic right in his tracks, putting his hands up in a straight angle against Olberic’s shoulders. Despite being slightly over a head taller than him, Erhardt is confident that he could very much hold Olberic’s weight right now. Right now were they to be walked in on, it could take a while to explain.

Erhardt then tears his hip to the left: left foot and right shoulder on the ground and sliding out of Olberic’s reach, pushing him with his right foot on his hip. To Olberic’s surprise, he slides his hands until he is grabbing Olberic by his elbows. From there he can get his other foot on Olberic’s hip too. Olberic falls for it, not that he had much of an option to begin with. He tries to pull away from Erhardt, to readjust himself and regain control of the situation. That’s when Erhardt reaches for Olberic’s wrist, holding them as hard as he can. His feet are finally free. “No. You yield.”

“Or what?”

Erhardt answers him with a kick aimed right for Olberic’s groin, which has him closing his eyes and hissing. Then he kicks his way up Olberic’s stomach and chest, pushing him away from him until he is sitting on the ground, covering his crotch in pain as Erhardt stands up.

He brushes the dust and dirt off his clothes and looks as Olberic mutters he yields, brows scrunched up as he catches his breath. Erhardt leans over to him and offers him his hand. “I’m sorry but that was really effective.” He laughs at Olberic’s face of disbelief. He doesn’t take his hand but Olberic is like an open book to him after more than a year since he broke his nose. He knows he isn’t angry at him.

He lays on the grass instead, arms below his head as a pillow, eyes closed. “Bring our stuff here, please?” Olberic opens just one eye to look at him, to plea. Erhardt complains mildly but he is weak for his kind words so he obliges.

Erhardt bring both of their training swords, their backpacks and his lute from where they left them uphill. They’ll have to be back on the training grounds for dinner but, since they have some spare time since lunch, he and Olberic decided to come to the field close to the enclosure to spend the evening away from crowded spaces. Mid-late Spring Sun is a blessing on his skin and Erhardt sits beside Olberic’s outstretched form and takes his boots off to feel the fresh grass between his toes. He hugs his legs, cheek resting on his knee as he watches Olberic dozing off peacefully. His hair is down and messy, a rare sight but he enjoys it either way. He especially enjoys it when Olberic pulls his hair back - he could keep messing up his hair time and time again just to watch him do that. And pout, strangely, he likes his pouting too.

His stomach roars embarrassingly and Erhardt hugs his legs even tighter. “Do you mind if I take some of your biscuits?” Olberic has the habit of always carrying at least some food with him and he begins to think he should follow his example. Olberic nods faintly and shivers as he takes a deep breath. Erhardt reaches for his backpack and picks up the cloth wrapping the oats biscuits tightly. “Thanks."

Erhardt takes a biscuit and gnaws it in tiny bites, enjoying the taste of butter. He wishes they had some jam too but this is more than enough for him. It’s rather warm so he shouldn’t be surprised when Olberic undoes the first buttons of his shirt or rolls up his sleeves before going back to his state of nearly unconsciousness. Erhardt watches him discreetly though as he munches on his food. He can’t bring himself to tear his eyes away from him so he thanks the Gods above in the sky for Olberic’s obliviousness. He isn’t quite asleep actually so Erhardt decides to bury those thoughts and act his stupid age for a while.

He picks up another biscuit. “Here. Say ‘ahh’.”

Olberic opens his eyes and takes a large bite of the biscuit Erhardt nearly stuffed into his face. He sits up and eats it eagerly within seconds. “Were you going to choke me or what?” He laughs loudly and it resonates with the wind through the hill.

“Maybe I will someday.” Erhardt tries his best to keep a straight face as he speaks but he smiles faintly.

They eat as they talk of meaningless things. Though Erhardt doesn’t enjoy smalltalk often he knows that not everything has to be deep and wholehearted. They can talk about the weather or their peers, or make fun of the corporals they dislike the most, just for the sake of talking to each other, to listen to each other’s voice for a while longer. It doesn’t feel forced or weird, it actually fills him with warmth.

Olberic folds the cloth once there are no more biscuits left and leaves it inside of his backpack. Erhardt turns around to pick up his mother’s lute, tuning it as he hums. He runs his fingers across the worn old wood; maybe he should varnish it soon. He is still trying to get used to it, coming to terms with how to take care of the lute without covering his mother’s paintings. He can’t just ask anyone about the matter: it feels more private than anything else Erhardt has ever felt. One last memento he holds closer to his heart than anything else. Yet as he plays a tune fitting for inns or the road, he doesn’t feel sorrowful but at ease. The wind and Olberic’s steady breath beside him, the grass below him, between his curled toes, and the warm skies above him; all of those things lift some weight from his heavy shoulders.

He plays just for the sake of it for a long while, until he realizes he is feeling drowsy himself. He can’t fall asleep, not when Olberic is resting as well. They can’t be late for dinner and Erhardt doesn’t trust himself with waking up in time were he to fall asleep. So he stays by Olberic’s side, less than a foot apart, as he plays some more senseless fragments of tunes he thinks he has heard somewhere. They don’t quite match but they don’t have to either. Some of them are from the barracks, others are from the Brotherhood and many are from his home back in Grynd. Not that it matters much now.

The Sun is still up in the sky and it will be there for a few more hours when Erhardt feels his hands growing tired and his mind both light and heavy at the same time from exhaustion. Right beside him, Olberic shifts and his eyelids nearly flicker lightly even if for less than a second. He must be in deep sleep. His breath even and calm, a feeling that sticks to Erhardt’s mood too. His face looks so relaxed and soft: no furrowed nose or forehead, lips smiling faintly and his hair down. His presence feels so peaceful. Erhardt leaves his lute beside him and hugs his legs once again as he stares. He is left breathless, eyes half-lidded and gaze fixated. He is far too gone but also far too tired to even care. Alone as he is, Erhardt has no need to hide his growing affection so he does something he rarely allows himself to do: he lets the feeling flow through him. It fills him from head to toe, his hands feel steadier and his gaze more focused as he decides he doesn’t need to struggle in front of himself.

He shifts closer to Olberic instead, mind clear for once with determination. Olberic doesn’t need to know about this but if he doesn’t, Erhardt could claw his own face; it’s driving him insane. So he leans close to Olberic, holding his weight with a hand next to his head. Erhardt can feel his own pulse beating through his wrists and through his head. It is quick: Erhardt wouldn’t dare to spend more time than strictly necessary just in case his breath or his touch could disturb Olberic’s sleep. He kisses him though, barely more than a careful timid caress. Erhardt pulls back painfully, feeling bold and stupid as he embraces the feeling in his chest wholeheartedly. Soon, Olberic will be awake, and those thoughts would have to stay locked for both their sakes. And also for his duty to Werner, to his family. He can’t afford to play with Olberic when he knows it isn’t meant to last.

However, he isn’t even sitting back properly when Erhardt watches Olberic open his eyes, slowly. His eyelids look heavy as he blinks, dazed. Right here, his eyes are almost black. “What was that for?” He asks mid-yawn. Olberic hugs his stomach and flexes his legs, still lying lazily on the ground, expression calm and sleepy.

Erhardt stares at him in panic, unable to answer. He knows, that is pretty clear but how could Olberic be so relaxed? Maybe he isn’t fully awake, which wouldn’t be ideal either. He knows he shouldn’t have, he overstepped. Erhardt looks around them but the hills are as empty as they were when they arrived not so long ago. The Sun isn’t even touching the horizon before them. He is left without excuses so he buries his face in shame as he hugs his legs. He mutters so quietly he can’t even hear himself, words refusing to leave his mouth. “I’m sorry.” Finally, he manages a small apology; not enough for his liking but he doubts he can do anything better than that.

He can actually hear Olberic shifting on his back, sitting up and rolling his shoulders until they crack. “Why so?” Erhardt turns around to look at him in disbelief, brows furrowed and sighing. How can Olberic ask such a question? However, he can’t spot any hidden intentions on his face, always open as a book as sincere. He rubs his eyes clean and looks back at Erhardt softly. “Don’t get me wrong. I get it.” He says as if it was his fault. “It would have been…better to ask beforehand but it doesn’t have to matter, right?”

Erhardt can’t piece Olberic’s words together. He can’t figure out what he means by them, they give him mixed signals and that just annoys him further. Olberic has every right to be annoyed, not him. Why isn’t he though? That’s why he snaps. “What are you even talking about?” His voice doesn’t sound as rough as he thought at first, it’s more confused. “You should be…” He looks around, panicking as he looks for some word, any word. “Furious?” It comes out as a question, weak and as unimposing as it can be.

“Why should I?” Olberic, so often shy and kind, is looking right through him, almost challenging him. Erhardt can’t find his words right now, not that Olberic leaves him much time to interrupt him. “You pretend you don’t care but then you worry about what other people think of you all the time. Our instructors, our partners, people you barely know… Then why does it bother you that I’m not mad at you for…” Olberic frowns and looks between the two of them, not giving any name. “this?” Erhardt stares, he wishes he could tell Olberic. “Isn’t that a good thing? Just…stop trying to impress everyone for a while and think about yourself.” He looks tired once he is done. His face softens as he sighs and Olberic timidly searches for any kind of sign in Erhardt’s face.

However, right now he can only stare. He thought he could hide so much better but it looks like Olberic isn’t the only one that is an open book. Erhardt knows he is only here because of Werner, because of his family: he needs to become a knight in order for their plan to progress, a plan Werner refuses to share with him yet. So he tries his best to be pleasing, to be the best, so they can’t argue about any failure or imperfection. It is difficult and it drains him. However, that doesn’t mean that all the good experiences he has had ever since he joined aren’t real. Sharing his food and his living quarters for over a year, the quiet talks surrounded by warhounds in the kennel, the sparring matches, Olberic beside him… All of those things are as real as the pain inside him or the soft grass between his curled toes. They are tangible and right there, within the reach of his hand.

So he begins to think that Olberic may be right. It doesn’t have to blow his cover but, since he is meant to stay for a long while, maybe even years, he may as well take care of his own stability. Olberic has already said he doesn’t mind but Erhardt can’t quite make up his mind. He has been lying and hiding since the day he arrived but doing so to Olberic? He isn’t sure that he’ll be able to keep it to himself. Then he makes the mistake to look back at Olberic, all anxious and expectant, waiting for him. He is eager but Olberic won’t push, he’d never be able to do so. Erhardt knows right then that there is no hope for him.

He looks elsewhere, to his feet dirty with soil, to their discarded training swords laying close to them. “Don’t you dare be softer in our matches because of this, I warn you I won’t.” It doesn’t sound like a warning.

Behind him, Olberic sighs in relief. “You have nothing to fear. If so, I’ll ask even more of you now.” He is both shy and playful at the same time, so… Olberic. So fitting. “After all, you told me you want us to get knighted together.” He still does. He is better with Olberic, they push each other forward: faster, stronger, greater. “But I guess we can talk about that any other time…” Erhardt can tell he is trying to go somewhere else with that but he can’t quite figure out where so he just hums. “Right now, could you…” Olberic isn’t used to thinking about himself either, always so selfless and kind. He struggles with his words, trying his best to find the perfect question. “Could we do that again? For real?”

It doesn’t feel like the perfect phrasing but it doesn’t have to be. Those are Olberic’s words, much better than any other he could hear. Erhardt turns around awkwardly, hand leaning on the ground between them and eyes open wide as he gives Olberic a little chaste peck on the lips. Olberic’s eyes are open in shock too but then he chuckles lightly against Erhardt’s skin and holds his face carefully and with trembling hands as he kisses him again. This time he is more decisive, he closes his eyes and leans his forehead into Erhardt’s. However, Erhardt can only stare in awe. He fears he’ll hurt Olberic; maybe not right now, nor tomorrow, but someday he will for sure. He fears it would be the other way around too. Does it matter now? Shouldn’t they be able to enjoy what they have now rather than suppress their need for affection and closeness with fear?

They keep kissing and talking, barely a few inches apart, until the air around them feels cooler and the skies above them begin to turn pink. Then Erhardt blinks and stands right up in panic. “We have to go now!” He takes a look at his pack, looking for anything they could have left behind.

“I’ll ready the pack, you go get your boots on!” Olberic is up beside him in a heartbeat.

Erhardt hastily puts his boots on and fastens his mother’s lute on his back as fast as he can and Olberic tosses him his backpack and sword as they run uphill. This time, it is Olberic who offers him his hand as they sprint. Erhardt could swear one of them laughed then but who? That he can’t tell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my beta, @wintershiny. You always get stuck with my weird writing cycles, I'm sorry.
> 
> I wasn't sure if I'd be able to post this but, since I wrote it in four days (I think that's a record for me!) I'm pretty happy with it. I hope you enjoy the last update of the year. I wish I'll back soon but I better study so it could take a tad longer than a week. Please be patient with me.
> 
> (Forgot to say that Erhardt is actually doing a real self defense move there at the beginning. I'll leave you the link just in chase you want to check it out: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6D8r-wH0dkk&t=2s Stay safe, everyone!)
> 
> That said, I hope you have a Happy New Year!


	17. Between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In the dead of the night, Olberic hears some quiet shifting outside of their tent and Erhardt must have heard it too because he goes quiet and still, looking at him in doubt. [...] Olberic shifts closer to the entrance of their tent, trying to listen. Breathing. Uneven and familiar. He shakes his head at Erhardt and his frown disappears within seconds.
> 
> “Therion?”"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Paper Boats (hummed) (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lGKcsTLBAvw&t=2s)  
> Tags: Therion ch 4 spoilers, mentions of death, Darius is his own warning, sewing, humming, co-sleeping.

“Why didn’t you write that letter whilst in Northreach?” Erhardt turns around under the large pile of heavy blankets. He is waiting for the ink to dry as he writes.

Olberic leaves the quill and he rubs his hands together, knuckles white and harsh from frostbite. “We are in a hurry. We must inform Lady Cordelia as soon as possible.” Erhardt knows that there is something else, something that has little to do with Lady Cordelia. “And I like writing on the road: I find it relaxing.” He does. Who knows how long it will be until he is able to go to Cobbleston again? Philip is probably already eager to know about their latest quests.

By his side, Erhardt smiles slyly. “Softie…” Olberic can swear he bites his lower lip and pulls the blankets even further up. He is back to humming peacefully beside him, trying to write some notes in his notebook.

The north wind atop of the mountain is merciless and so close to the Maw of the Ice Dragon; one has to be ready for the worst. They are packed close together for the night: sharing as much space as they are comfortable with. Olberic and Erhardt don’t mind it much: it’s just as it used to be back then. Their tent is the same as it was, as well as their mats pulled together. Most of the thick animal pelts and blankets are new though. He knows some of his companions aren’t as comfortable though. Especially Therion, who is currently sharing with Heathcote. He will accompany them on their way to Bolderfall. Unfortunately, Erhardt won’t be able to stay with them for so long: he will head south as soon as the path forks to the Woodlands and to Stillsnow. He can’t put off his duty for much longer.

Olberic tries to reread what he has written until now, trying his best to sum up the parts that Philip is most likely to find exciting or that he knows his mother won’t worry about him knowing. However, Erhardt’s voice beside him is too distracting and he turns around to look as he writes, humming softly, luring him to sleep. He writes down a few chords as he measures the time and does it time and time again, Olberic has always been useless with music, or so he thinks, so he doesn’t understand any single symbol that Erhardt writes upon the piece of paper. He can’t recognize the tune right now, barely a whisper above their breath.

In the dead of the night, Olberic hears some quiet shifting outside of their tent and Erhardt must have heard it too because he goes quiet and still, looking at him in doubt. They both leave their writing aside, carefully, without any noise but Olberic shifts closer to the entrance of their tent, trying to listen. Breathing. Uneven and familiar. He shakes his head at Erhardt and his frown disappears within seconds.

“Therion?” A gasp. “Therion, come in. You’ll get cold out there.” He guesses right.

Wrapped tightly in his scarf and shivering, Therion gets inside the crowded tent. He is looking elsewhere, trying to control his trembling. His face is as white as a ghost and his hands hurt from the cold. He looks exhausted, even more than when they faced his former partner a few days ago. The heat of the moment had already left him, cold and insecure. Those are dangerous feelings.

They look at him with concern but Olberic knows he would dislike that, so he manages to offer him a gentler expression. “Are your hands itchy again?” Therion doesn’t answer. He nods slightly and hums quietly. Olberic turns around, looking for something inside his backpack. He can feel Erhardt staring at him in confusion. Finally, he finds it. “Come sit with us, I found your last work.”

They shift, making some room for Therion to sit between them. He stands there though, unsure. “Can I take off my boots?” His feet must be freezing from snow and cold water that soaks through his footwear.

Beside him, Erhardt nods. He is taking a look at the simple piece of needlework Therion’s been making from time to time whenever he gets ‘itchy fingers’; though, more often than not that means that he isn’t feeling well and wants to distract himself. “Come get it. It’s cold outside.”

Therion doesn’t even think about it. He kicks his boots close to Olberic’s own and gets under the covers as fast as he can. Olberic can tell his temperature is cooler than it should be; probably the beginning of a slight fever. Without saying a word, he picks up his work right where he left it and shrinks into himself as he clumsily weaves the thread together. Olberic knows better than to ask him what is bothering him right away, so he reluctantly picks up his half-written letter and listens to them peacefully. Therion’s breath settles to something more even as he works, and Erhardt’s constant scribbling is soothing.

“What are you making?” Erhardt turns around to look at Therion as he lets the sheet of paper dry. It could take a long time.

Often so private and harsh, Therion shrugs his shoulders and stretches out the piece of clothing to show him. “Trying to make some socks.” He picks his piece up and frowns, unhappy with his work. “Not sure if it could fit an adult’s foot though…”

It makes him smile softly. “If you don’t think it’s enough then you’ll have to practice more. That’s the only way you can improve.” He did thousands of stitches and Erhardt played a thousand notes before they could be minimally proud of their work. Sword too heavy for them both until the billionth time. Perseverance. Perseverance and endurance.

Erhardt isn’t humming this once, staying quiet for Therion’s sake. The song is stuck in his head as he tries to recall the chords Erhardt was writing. He proofreads the letter once again - he has much to tell Philip.

Neither of them talk for a long while. It is actually Therion who speaks promptly, without being asked. He frowns and keeps weaving, voice quiet and weak: “The second night we spent in Northreach I went back to the cathedral cellars…” Olberic and Erhardt share a worried look. “Looking for anything that could be useful down there, you know me.” There is something off with his laughter, something bitter. “Turned out the brigands had emptied most of it already. I’m not sure if they’ll stay there or if the band will dissolve.” Olberic hopes it disappears for those poor people’s sake. “I made it to their main store room. There wasn’t a single leaf there but Darius…” Even saying the name hurts him. Therion leaves his needlework aside and curls into himself, hugging his legs for comfort. “He…” He gulps, a knot in his throat. “They left him there to die. They stabbed him and shot at him with crossbows.” He chuckles bitterly. “When I found him, he had more holes than a sieve.”

That morning, Therion woke up late and they began marching away from that damned town. Olberic doesn’t ask but he figures that Therion carried his former partner out of that rat-ruled sewer into a decent place for him to rest. Would he have done the same thing had his first meeting with Erhardt in Wellspring taken a similar turn? Maybe so, but he dislikes thinking about that. It makes his head ache and a bitter feeling settle in his stomach.

“You buried him, right?” Therion nods at Erhardt’s question, a gesture so tiny it could have gone unnoticed easily. “I see. Sometimes, you’ll need to do that yourself.” Olberic still remembers Erhardt’s shocked expression when he arrived with Lord Harald and his men to study where they fought Werner. Many of the villagers wouldn’t agree with the remains of a man who did them so wrong resting in their land, so Erhardt took care of the matter with his own hands, somewhere private and away from prying eyes.

He didn’t do the same with Olberic though. He fell to a deep wound on his left shoulder, it had cut through bone and muscle alike. However, both of them know that had Erhardt wanted to end him there, he would have aimed for his neck instead. And he wouldn’t have carried Olberic’s unconscious body to the safety of a ruined tent to clumsily stitch his shoulder and stop the bleeding before fleeing with Nadette. Maybe someday they will talk about that but Olberic doesn’t think either of them are ready yet. He woke up to a burning shoulder and a great ache running through all of him. When he made it to the top of the mountain, where the royal tent used to stand, he found a rudimentary grave but most of their peers were still exposed in open air.

“You must be tired. Try to lie down for a while.” Erhardt’s voice is calm now. It takes Olberic a second to realize it was meant for Therion, not for him. Therion gives in to his reassuring whispers and he lies down, curling into himself. “It is over now.” He doesn’t touch Therion, he knows him better than that. However, he looks at Olberic as he once again picks up his writing materials.

He isn’t sure of what that is supposed to mean, but Olberic stays awake, guarding Therion by his side for the night as Erhardt hums softly, scribbling on his messy music score. Around them, the mountain tenses in pain from freezing winds, and Olberic carefully tucks Therion in. He is finally able to sleep after pouring out his worries. Therion knows Olberic won’t confront him on the matter, he will just offer him some quiet support and a place to stay for the night. And Erhardt, he can guess what Therion sees in him. He knows it often frustrates him, it makes him feel like he got the bad end of the same tale. Darius could have faced him openly, he could have had some excuse, at least care enough to find any. He could have meant something by harming Therion in the first place, maybe to keep him away from further danger. He could have asked for forgiveness and acknowledge that Therion was right all along, that his way was the best from the beginning. Could have tried his best to turn his wrongs to rights. Could have. Could have. Could have. But he didn’t.

It could have been much worse so Olberic is thankful for what he got. He takes a look at Therion’s sleeping form. He is facing his way, curled into a ball and taking up as little space as he can. Despite his usually unruly character and his concerns, right now he looks peaceful, quiet. Olberic knows he’ll be gone before the morning comes but right now he allows himself to feel protective.

“You should rest too.” Erhardt whispers over Therion’s back. He is trying to clean some ink stain off his hands, packing up his writing for the night. He is obviously tired: eyes dark, half-lidded and hair messily braided. He has always been horrible at that. Maybe, if Therion wasn’t there, he would ask Erhardt to let him do it right.

“Same to you.” Olberic is sure that he looks just as exhausted as him but he won’t say so aloud.

However, he laughs quietly and gestures Olberic to give him his pieces of paper. He obliges. “Look. I don’t want to see who is the most stubborn out of the two of us tonight. So…let’s just call it a night.”

He can’t argue against that. Olberic hands him the letter and Erhardt folds it carefully, keeping it neatly closed between his own pages. He watches as Erhardt tries to reach for the oil lamp without getting out of the covers but he ends up doing so himself. Erhardt pouts at that. He curls closer to Therion’s back, pulling the many layers of blankets and pelts to his side yet leaving enough for the sleeping figure. Olberic shifts closer to them, leaving some room between Therion and himself.

He is already nearly asleep when Erhardt reaches for him, grabbing him by his shirt weakly as he spoons Therion from behind. He looks half-gone with exhaustion, expression calm and easy even if just for a while. That’s so unusual for either of them, so Olberic appreciates it even further. “Hey, Olberic…” He can barely get a glimpse of Erhardt’s figure in the dark. “Keep an eye on them, please.” He doesn’t need to see him to know he is smiling.

Softly, avoiding crushing Erhardt’s hand, Olberic shifts closer to Erhardt and Therion and pulls them close together. “Always.”

 

Just as he thought, Therion is gone before the morning comes. He must have rolled to his other side during the night, leaving Therion some room to maneuver and get out of Erhardt’s reach. With his hands finally free, Erhardt has reached for him in his sleep, hugging his back. Olberic places his hand on Erhardt carefully, over his stomach. Soon, they will have to get out and carry on with their journey. By now, he enjoys Erhardt rubbing his cheek against Olberic’s shoulder blades like some kind of lazy cat, obviously awake yet unwilling to move.

It takes him a while to get Erhardt out of the warm comfort of their mats but Olberic is just as stubborn as him. Once Olberic is done brushing his hair and Erhardt is out in the cold, Olberic packs up their tent for the last time in what could be months. Discarded and hiding among their sheets, Olberic finds a plain black ribbon Erhardt used to keep his hair mostly in place for the night. He stuffs it inside his pocket with the intent of handing it to him once they have some time to spare.

That morning they make their way down the mountain through treacherous, icy and rocky paths. If their way up was exhausting, trying not to open one’s head while descending is even trickier. Luckily, Therion looks perfectly normal though, back to his quiet self. Yet now Olberic can spot something kinder in him too, some sort of rough affection as he bothers Tressa, yet helps her jump out of a slippery rock’s grasp or as he searches for Alfyn’s arm to steady his step. He is still getting used to it but he is proud of his progress. It will take him a long time before he can speak about the matters of last night without issue. Maybe he’ll never be able to; Olberic thinks he can understand that. After all, he is still getting used to it too.

By noon, the path becomes less sheer and they can discern the fork of the path from a terrace as they stop for lunch. That’s when they unpack their backpacks and check that Olberic doesn’t have anything that actually belongs to Erhardt or the other way around. “I think this is yours.” His letter for Philip. Olberic takes it and folds it between some light books. He tries to hand Erhardt his black hair ribbon back but Erhardt shakes his head and laughs. “I have more. Keep it if you want to.”

 

Soon they reach the fork and Erhardt is gone. He is going to walk cross country from Stillsnow to the path that leads to Flamesgrace. That journey would be much easier on horseback, but he already told him long ago that Nadette is long gone, and he has never felt like he could have any other mount. With H’aanit leading their way, they make fast progress. That night, as Tressa asks Mister Heathcote many questions about his mistress and her family, Olberic discreetly ties Erhardt’s ribbon around his left wrist, keeping it safe underneath his sleeve, between skin and cloth. He doesn’t know quite why, but it feels right there, comforting. When he looks up, Olberic can see Therion staring at his wrist. However, neither of them say a word. Sometimes all one needs is a chat, amongst other things. Most of the time, both are required.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to @wintershiny for her hard work and patience.  
> First D&S of the year! I hope you enjoyed this one. Next one is likely going to be a long update so be ready for it (though I'm not sure when). (Also, I'd die for Transistor's soundtrack.)  
> Now that I think of it, it has been more than five months since I began writing these, time sure flies... Thank you for checking out my work!


	18. From Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> '"I'm tired, Erhardt. Please, could you take it from here?"'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Crooked Water Valley (I couldn't find it on youtube but it is on spotify (by Talisk): https://open.spotify.com/album/7jtSXw5Ff4tlW3dgac3nvW) (only fitting once the atmosphere turns lighter.)  
> Tags: END-GAME SPOILERS, THE BIG SPOILERS, I'M NO FUCKING AROUND WITH SPOILERS, injuries, recovery, implied violence, awful puns, plans for the future, slight team as family, getting back together.  
> (I don't have the heart to write any ending that isn't a happy ending...)

“OLBERIC!” He screams at the top of his lungs when the blow hits Olberic, the sound of his voice lost to the clamor of battle.

Neither Erhardt nor anyone else can help but to stare helplessly as the Blade of the Fallen pierces through armor and skin alike, tearing through Olberic mercilessly. Erhardt watches in horror as the eldritch blade goes right through Olberic’s stomach, skewered as he bleeds. They were so close. Too close. Erhardt is hurting, exhausted just as everyone else: twisted and about to break. His hold on his blade grows weaker for a second until he gets a glimpse of Olberic’s hands tightening around the great beast’s ‘wrist’, holding its blade in place deep within him.

“NOW!” Olberic manages through the pain, heels digging deep in the ground as it tries to shake him out of its limb.

That’s all they need to hear. They are back in the fight with a roar. No retreat. No quarter. Nowhere to run or hide.

 

Bruised, bloody and broken, they make their way through the darkness, leaning into each other for support. Lady Eliza holds the lamp ahead. She has a breach on her head but she refuses to let Alfyn treat her right now; not when many of them are in a much worse condition. The young lad they came for, Kit, is barely conscious and both Tressa and Primrose help him walk slowly despite their own wounds. H’aanit’s legs are far more damaged, she lets Therion carry her reluctantly. She has taken too many blows, her body refusing to heal further despite magic. Both Cyrus and Ophilia have their magic drained: Cyrus has given up talking a long while ago, concentrating on walking forward with his gaze unfocused. However, Lady Ophilia is even worse: she has spent even the last drop of her energy on keeping them alive. With her last rational thought, she closed the deep gash the blade made in Olberic’s stomach before he could bleed to death. Right now, Alfyn carries her gently, her head leaning on his shoulder and her breath weak.

Olberic is heavy with all of his gear leaning into Erhardt’s left shoulder. His right arm nearly got torn off, yet Erhardt knows they can’t stop right now. They should make their way to Everhold as quickly as possible so they can rest and heal properly. All of them need treatment and they just can’t get it between the mountains. Maybe, once they are all feeling better they could come back: on their way in, Cyrus mentioned he would like to take a few books from the ancient and ruined royal library before they rot and their knowledge is lost. Olberic and Erhardt could guide them through the mountains but they need to heal for that.

Olberic’s breath is uneven on Erhardt’s neck, damp and pained. His insides remain torn despite both Ophilia and Alfyn’s best attempts: even with magic, the fatal wound would take long to close and leave a nasty scar. Erhardt can’t help but panic. Olberic has been awfully quiet since they began walking away, barely conscious from blood loss. He must think of something, of any way to keep his mind occupied and awake. Then he remembers. “I spy with my little eye…something beginning with…” He looks around. Anything will do. “s.”

It’s been a long time since they last played. It used to be the best way to keep themselves awake until the medics made it to the battleground so it may as well work as they try to get out of it. Olberic puffs out a small breath, nearly chuckling. “I don’t feel like playing now. I’m sorry.” He truly sounds like he is. Olberic’s voice should be great and loud and powerful so Erhardt feels a tinge of worry when it sounds barely above their heavy steps.

“Oh. Is it Therion’s scarf?” Tressa asks from Kit’s side, turning around to look at them. She seems to realize what Erhardt is trying to do.

“Not quite but that is a good idea.” She isn’t even close.

They keep playing as they press on through the darkness and Cyrus finally speaks, winning this round. They continue to play and Erhardt feels some ease settle inside him, some hope. However, Olberic remains silent. He tries to get him to play, to look for any word.

“I can’t see, Erhardt.” He doesn’t look worried despite the dread of the statement. They are walking at the far back, from where Erhardt can keep an eye on the whole party. Their advance is slow and painful and Erhardt feels his lungs burning with effort. However, he turns around to look at Olberic as soon as he feels Olberic’s hand tightening around his dislocated shoulder. He bites his tongue to keep his cry to himself. “Hey, can I ask something of you?” Strangely, he is smiling softly.

Erhardt doesn’t feel good about this but he nods anyway. “Go ahead.”

By his side, Olberic closes his eyes and breathes peacefully, shoulders relaxing and going almost limp. “I’m tired, Erhardt. Please, could you take it from here?” It doesn’t sound like a question, it’s more of a fact and just the thought of it scares Erhardt beyond measure.

He can’t bring himself to answer right away but he carries on walking, Olberic’s weight heavy in his wounded arms, dragging him to the ground. “I’m not taking anything.” He knows he would if he had to, but if he thinks about that possibility now he will break. So he bluffs his way out the best he can and pretends Olberic’s words didn’t shake him to the bone. “Quit complaining and help me out. We are making it home now.”

Next to him, Olberic chuckles faintly, barely a whisper over Erhardt’s own anxious heartbeat, drumming through his chest. On his neck, Olberic’s breath goes even as his mind slips away from exhaustion for a while.

 

He takes a long sip and stretches his legs out under the table. Erhardt rolls his shoulders and they crack loudly. His right shoulder hurts like it is burning and he closes his eyes in pain as Olberic tells him that he warned him. Erhardt tries to ignore him but he nudges him softly with his left arm, the right heavily restricted in his arm sling.

“Do you think we could go back to the ruins once Ophilia wakes up?” Cyrus looks much better now, almost like normal. He leans into the walls as he walks though, and has been laying in bed reading for most of the week. He is anxious and ready for a challenge. However, Erhardt doubts there is going to be anything more challenging than their last test.

He and Olberic look at each other and Erhardt sighs in relief when he nods. “Of course you can.” Usually, Olberic would be reticent but it is Cyrus: he just wants to keep all of those original works from going missing, all of that knowledge from disappearing. Maybe that is for the best.

“Maybe you should get a chart to carry all of those to Atlasdam.” Erhardt chuckles under his breath but to Cyrus it looks like a great, magnificent plan. They keep drinking the afternoon away as Cyrus speculates about the royal library. Erhardt isn’t sure whether it would be a good idea or not but he can feel that Olberic would like to visit the castle for the last time, as a farewell. Maybe he should do so as well and pay respects after his failures. “Do you have plans now that it is over?”

Cyrus shakes his head across the table. “Maybe I should head back to the academy. My year off will be over soon and I would not like to leave my pupils unsupervised.”

“Tressa said she wants to keep traveling. She is a merchant, after all.” Erhardt remembers that conversation he had over shots with Primrose when they arrived to Everhold. She doesn’t know yet what she could do now, but she doubts she will go back to her family’s ancestral home anytime soon: too many tainted memories for her liking. “However, I think we should discuss this once Ophilia is finally awake.”

Both of them nod at Olberic’s words. Poor Ophilia had remained in bed and asleep since the fight was over. She hit the ground as soon as the adrenaline drained from her. According to Alfyn, it shouldn’t take long.

As the afternoon advances, some of the local musicians begin playing some tunes from the borders. Were they drunker and healthier, Erhardt wouldn't have trusted himself not to ask Olberic for a dance or two. However, they don’t have much time to think before Lady Eliza comes running from upstairs. She slams her hands on their table and looks at them with a dreadful expression on her face. She should be in bed too, resting from her concussion.

“Have you seen Therion?” She asks in a hurry.

All three of them stare at each other in confusion but Cyrus finally nods. “I think I saw him leaving the inn a long while ago.” Then he asks. “What is the matter, my Lady?”

“You know him, he’ll probably just get himself in trouble.” As an agent of order, Erhardt thinks it is normal for her to worry about Therion’s habits. “Also he should be resting from his wounds, not running around…”

Close to him, Olberic shakes his head. “Let him be.” He says to Lady Eliza’s surprise. “Therion dislikes feeling caged, inactive. I’m sure he will be back soon unharmed.” Both Cyrus and Erhardt understand his point, it is Therion after all.

However, Lady Eliza sighs heavily. “Unbelievable.” She looks at them closely, searching for some sympathy among them. Finally, she stares at Erhardt. “Are you going to just sit there instead of helping me, Sir Erhardt?”

So he sees his chance and he takes it without regret. “Would you prefer me to…” He can feel Olberic shifting beside him, reading himself for the blow. “give you a hand?”

Eliza frowns at him and gives him a look of disgust. “You scoundrel!” He can’t hold his laughter in much longer and Olberic coughs loudly, like it physically pained him. “I’m lucky I will never see you anywhere close to Captain Leon: I don’t think I would be able to stand both your puns and his one-eyed remarks…” Olberic takes a sip from his mug just from the mental picture.

This time it is Cyrus’ turn to go against poor Lady Eliza. “Please, do not let it make you lose your head.” Erhardt nearly chokes on his drink and this time Olberic snorts ungracefully to Lady Eliza’s horror.

“Oh, Gods no, not you too, professor! I’m out of here…” She leaves as fast as she came, always in a rush of energy and purpose.

“Are you three happy now? You made her run away.” Primrose scolds them from the staircase yet her own laughter is obvious. Then she sighs dramatically. “It is already late… Would some dashing knight lend me a hand and help me get some dinner for all four of us?”

She thinks she can play his game so he will answer. “Of course, but only one.”

“That shall suffice.”

It does suffice. As soon as they carry the burning pot of stew to their table, he, Cyrus, and Primrose slap Olberic’s hand off the ladle. First thing Alfyn tells him and first thing he tries to disobey at any chance he gets. Until further notice, Olberic is stuck with a strict diet. No matter how much he complains, how much he tries… There is always at least one of them to stop him in his tracks before he can do something stupid like drinking too much or eating actual solid food.

 

He gives up on trying to change his shirt and just tosses it to the floor as soon as it comes out. He would not like to dislocate his shoulder again trying to get dressed, so he can sleep in his sling and breeches. That is all he needs. Erhardt turns around to look at Olberic, sitting on his bed as he unpacks clean bandages and some heavy poultice Alfyn prescribed him as soon as they made their way to Everhold. Some scissors and forceps, cotton and rubbing alcohol to sanitize the wound before covering it up once more.

“Allow me.” Even with only one arm, Erhardt’s help always comes in handy, if that could be said in such a case. Alfyn is overloaded with work, so if Olberic and Erhardt can take care of their daily treatment themselves, then he’ll have fewer issues to attend to. He helps Olberic spread the material on the bed next to him.

He isn’t even done laying out the new bandages when Olberic turns around, hissing. “Wait. I don’t want to heal over your hair…”

“I don’t shed that much!” Erhardt complains loudly but he tries to get most of his hair out of his face. However, turns out braiding one’s hair with only one hand is much more of a difficult task than he would have ever thought. It is…precarious and messy and it won’t last for long. “This is it: peak performance.”

Olberic isn’t amused, he just shakes his head and gestures him to come closer. “Get over here.” And so Erhardt sits before him, back to Olberic as he undoes his disappointing work. “Not to be rude but that was lame.”

“Were you not recovering from being a human brochette, I would elbow you to death.” Maybe not to death but until he asked for forgiveness.

Olberic laughs behind him and the familiar sound makes his ears ring pleasantly. He has missed that. However, Olberic’s laughter soon turns to a hiss and Erhardt turns around to check him out. His eyes are closed in pain but he swears to Erhardt that he is fine. Olberic has never been a good liar, never will.

Slowly, gently, Olberic braids Erhardt’s hair until it is neatly gathered in one of those plaits that go inside the braid. Erhardt has never been patient enough to learn how to do those himself. However, Olberic seems to enjoy the kind of work that needs his full attention. “Now you are ready.”

They waste no time. Erhardt helps Olberic out of his blood and medicine soaked bandages and puts them aside to clean as he disinfects Olberic’s wound carefully to spare him any further harm. That must sting because Olberic hisses in pain and his whole chest shakes, stomach twisting with his uneven breath. Erhardt instructs Olberic to sit and show him his back. The gash is shallow there thanks to Ophilia and Alfyn’s best attempts. However, Erhardt can still see where the blade punctured into Olberic; awfully close to his spine. The flesh there is still red and flaming from the excessive amount of healing magic.

Erhardt wants to run his fingers over this new patch of tortured skin, just as much as the dreadful looking scar over Olberic’s stomach. However, he shakes his head and takes the forceps to clean the wound from the remains of the dressing and rotten flesh. “How many times must I warn you, Olberic?” Surprising even himself, his voice comes out as a soft tender whisper. Olberic pants as he removes a small piece of cotton that was caught under the healing skin that was regenerating far too fast. In the quiet of their room, Erhardt could swear he is able to hear the faint sound of music coming from the floor below them, the humming of the violin and the concertina. “Your blade might be unbending but you are just flesh, like any of us.”

Olberic doesn’t say a word at that. He flinches when Erhardt pulls out another tiny piece of cloth and sighs in relief when he tosses Olberic the forceps and a blow to clean them properly. Once the metal is clean and drying, Olberic holds an end of the poultice soaked bandage for Erhardt to take and they begin wrapping it around Olberic’s stomach and back. It smells bitter and it makes Erhardt’s nose wrinkle.

Closing his eyes, Olberic takes a deep breath as they settle the new bandages over his lethal injuries. Though low and deep, Olberic’s words are kind and quiet: “Earlier, when you were carrying me…” That was almost a week ago, or so Erhardt wishes to tell him. However, he can feel that Olberic isn’t in the mood for jokes. He isn’t just trying to distract himself from the pain. A strange anxiousness builds quickly in Erhardt’s stomach and he is nearly panting when Olberic gulps. “You said we were…‘going home now’.”

Erhardt can recall those words. He was angry and scared and furious at Olberic for wanting to let go, to go. Along with the stark pain from his arm and over-exhaustion, Erhardt said the first thing that came to his mind. It seemed like the best thing to tell Olberic right then, to allow him to hold onto something, onto anything at all. “I did.” That wasn’t a question but Erhardt answers anyway.

He can hear Olberic chuckle softly at that though the murmur is quickly drowned out by the music from the ground floor as it quickens in pace. “I must ask you though…” Erhardt can feel Olberic’s uneasiness as he speaks. Olberic is nearly turned around, looking at Erhardt over his shoulder and ignoring the discomfort of his wound. It takes Olberic a long while but he manages to let the words out after taking a deep breath. “Where do you think ‘home’ is?”

Erhardt can’t help but stare at Olberic wide-eyed, words lost. He remains quiet as he tries to read Olberic’s expression. Once he thought he was an expert at doing so but not so much right now. The longer he takes to answer, the greater the tension between them becomes, building slowly from ashes over the months. Erhardt tries to look for any sign in Olberic’s face: self-consciousness, anxiety… Maybe some regret as Erhardt stays still even for longer.

That is what he was looking for so Erhardt breathes in, as if he was going for a dive. Maybe one could say he is. His voice is on Olberic’s level of quietness and he doubts Olberic would be able to hear him were they not sitting so close. “I am afraid I don’t know.” He remembers though: Grynd, the training grounds, the campsite, their undersized attic above the rooftops… He remembers the road they marched through on Nadette’s back. Erhardt doubts he should be able to get another chance to turn his wrongs to rights after all the harm he has done. However, if Olberic of all people is willing and encouraging him to try, shouldn’t he at least give it a chance? “Would you care to show me again when we have time?” He doesn’t plea, leaving Olberic room enough to openly reject him.

However, Olberic sighs, shoulders relaxing and he doesn’t hide his gaze from him. “We have time now.” For the Darkness is gone and so are its perils. They truly have time now that this path has come to an end and the chapter closes, redemption found along the road.

Ignoring the discomfort from their fresh wounds, Erhardt shifts ever so slowly, feeling heavy as he puts his healthy arm over Olberic’s shoulder. His right arm is pressed tightly in his sling against Olberic’s back and side but he manages to bite down a hiss of pain. Olberic turns around slightly, until his side is almost facing Erhardt. He frowns in pain at the great gash still new and healing, however, he leans in to kiss Erhardt.

Long ago, Erhardt learnt over time how to actually kiss with his eyes closed. Old habits die hard though and he stares at Olberic, eyes half-lidded and eager. Those white hairs weren’t there the last time this happened but Erhardt couldn’t be more happy about them. His own hair is turning white from both stress and age and it surprises Erhardt they somehow managed to make it this long, to survive against all odds. Erhardt leans even closer, until he is pressing Olberic even further, hungrily. Olberic’s neatly shaven cheeks are always warm as he presses his freezing nose awkwardly against them and Erhardt is relieved to find that such things never change.

Head feeling light, Erhardt reaches with the arm that is over Olberic’s shoulder and he pulls Olberic even closer to himself, hand pressing against the flat of Olberic’s chest. He doesn’t fight back. Erhardt’s broken arm is trapped, cramped under the considerable pressure of some of Olberic’s weight but he refuses to break out and step back. Or to close his eyes. Below them, Erhardt can hear laughter coming from the ground floor alongside faint music, muffled by both the floor, the beams and the heavy breathing inside his head. He can focus on that layer of sound and hear the clapping from the customers as the song comes even closer to its conclusion.

Suddenly, a rush of fresh air hits them as their door suddenly opens. “PHILI IS AWAKE!” Tressa shrieks happily, not even six feet away from them, standing in their doorway. Her breath is hurried, as if she had been running. Olberic and Erhardt freeze right on site and so does Tressa, staring in shock. Olberic opens his eyes too, mortified. They don’t even have time to pull away fully until Tressa rushes some stuttered apology on how that had been rude and she should have knocked. “Anyway, come visit her when you can?!” She says, faster than should be humanly possible, and closes the door hurriedly as she runs through the inn’s corridor.

Neither of them speak for a long while, still staring with disbelief at the door where Tressa stood only a few seconds ago. However, of all things, of all possibilities, Erhardt wasn’t expecting Olberic to laugh his lungs off, heavy and loud, until the sound fills his ears and he is doubling over his stomach both in pain and trying to catch his breath. Erhardt stares in awe as Olberic takes his hand, still holding onto his chest, and kisses his cold chopped dry knuckles.

“Ophilia is awake. Let’s not make her wait any longer.”

Olberic is trying to get back on his feet all of a sudden, holding onto the bed and close furniture for balance. He is trying to do everything by himself and Erhardt shouldn’t be amused but he jumps to his feet to help him out anyway, before Olberic gets the chance to re-open his stitches.

“Stubborn as a mule, aren’t you?” Erhardt scolds him, brows furrowed as he helps Olberic with his boots rather than letting him double over his injury so much. However, his words only draw another laugh from Olberic and, as it rings in his ears, Erhardt can’t manage to feel upset for much longer. Not now that they have time. Not from here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to my lovely beta, @WinterShiny, who just goes along with it a proofreads in one go the chapters I send her the mid-day before the posting-day. Your work is amazing!
> 
> Once again, I made it in the last minute. I hope you enjoy this chapter because I'm sappy and I can't ignore obviously happy endings. Only five more chapters to go, we really are coming close to the end.
> 
> (Also, the whole 'they have time now' (and I think that the "For the Darkness is gone" too, and the warhorse thing that is mentioned in a few chapters) is a reference to my favorite Darkest Dungeon fic, A Day (https://archiveofourown.org/works/11541261/chapters/25913985), which I have read at least six times. This fic is a masterpiece and it has given me so much inspiration. 'A Day' holds a very special place in my heart and I encourage to read it if you enjoy the game/couple and/or happy endings because it gets me every time.)
> 
> That said, I thank all of you for following my work! Until the next time!


	19. Kingsguard Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "They stand slowly, as if they still feel somehow faint after some kind of trance. Olberic gets a small glimpse of Erhardt beside him. Pretty much like back then, this is like getting knighted together all over again. He remembers when all of those things seemed so distant back in the day, yet now here they stand, barely a few milestones left on their path. If only for a second, Olberic forgets how to breathe when Erhardt glances his way briefly, discreetly. They have perfected their technique over the years so nobody but Erhardt would be able to notice how Olberic’s gaze turns more confident in a matter of seconds, or how he lets go and ignores the unpleasant feeling of his heartbeat caged inside his skull because of anxiety."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Valse di Fantastica (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8OZzdNsEFTY) (suggested by tales-of-fluri on tumblr)  
> Tags: pregame, dancing, they are socially awkward so they hate balls, OCs, implied male OC/male OC, asoiaf references, some PDA at the end.
> 
> (I'M SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG! (for more apologies, go to end notes))

The words still dance on his tongue and in his head as the sword touches their shoulders. Kneeling a few steps below their liege, Olberic keeps his gaze fixated on the ground as he tries to even out his breathing. He can feel Erhardt by his side, kneeling just like him. However, he isn’t able to actually listen to his breathing above the court’s quiet whispering. Is he relieved? Maybe he is anxious too.  
Olberic doesn’t have much time to think about anything as he now hears the last words of the King’s speech. “I swear it by the twelve Gods. Arise.” For his first command with them being in the guard, his voice is pleasantly kind, calm.

They stand slowly, as if they still feel somehow faint after some kind of trance. Olberic gets a small glimpse of Erhardt beside him. Pretty much like back then, this is like getting knighted together all over again. He remembers when all of those things seemed so distant back in the day, yet now here they stand, barely a few milestones left on their path. If only for a second, Olberic forgets how to breathe when Erhardt glances his way briefly, discreetly. They have perfected their technique over the years so nobody but Erhardt would be able to notice how Olberic’s gaze turns more confident in a matter of seconds, or how he lets go and ignores the unpleasant feeling of his heartbeat caged inside his skull because of anxiety.

 

Lord Commander Sir Wolfgang is an intimidating man. For a man in his sixties, he carries himself with the strength of a much younger knight. His dark skin prevents him from being just some indistinguishable mass of light colors: from his white hair and beard, to grey eyes and definitely the pristine white tunic and armor. Both Olberic and Erhardt first met him when it was announced that they would join the Kingsguard; however, he still manages to look imposing.

“I don’t care for what you’ve done until now.” They stand awkwardly with their expressions blank as their commander scolds them for no apparent reason. Olberic keeps his back straight and barely dares to breathe; maybe if he does it too deeply that would annoy him even further. At some point, Olberic has lost his line of thought and his rambling feels mostly senseless by now.

Out of the corner of his eye he spots a middle-aged man gesturing him to keep quiet as he sneaks behind their commander’s back. He sports a Kingsguard yellow uniform and carries two glasses of wine in each hand. Judging by Erhardt’s expression, neither of them has ever seen him.

“Gods above. Are you even listening to m-” He stops right in his tracks as the smiling knight settles a cup in his hand. “You…” Sir Wolfgang turns around to look at the stranger, infuriated. However, that man just offers both Olberic and Erhardt a glass and they take it reluctantly.

He chuckles softly, in the manner courtiers laugh. “Already yelling at the kids, your lordship? I assure you there is no need to feel afraid of the old dog, he is all bark and no bite.” Though Sir Wolfgang’s murderous gaze clearly states otherwise.

However, his frown disappears partly as he sighs. “If only you brought me alcohol every time I have to stand you…” And he takes a long sip to match his words.

That sets the stranger back in laughter. “You may sit if you please, my lord.” He whirls his wine once, twice, and soon Lord Commander is storming out of this man’s infuriating presence, muttering something about warning another knight. “Thank me later, who knows how long he would have had you held prisoners.” By his side, Erhardt shifts uncomfortably and takes a sip. Suddenly, the man opens his eyes and bows slightly. “So rude of me! I haven’t even introduced myself yet! Allow me…”

Erhardt is faster though. “There is no need to, Sir.” He turns around to face Olberic. “Sir Olberic, this is Sir Ingo Gehrig,” Olberic could swear he has heard that name before. “her Majesty's cousin.”

Olberic stares at Sir Ingo dumbfounded. Marginally taller than Erhardt, tan and sharp. Sir Ingo isn’t getting any younger and now that Olberic can see him up close, he seems to be in his mid-forties. When Olberic realizes he has been staring, he stumbles a clumsy apology and bows his head lightly.

Sir Ingo shakes his head and leans his hand on Olberic’s shoulder in a reassuring way. “Oh, no, please. Just call me Ingo.” Now it is Erhardt’s turn to complain about how that would be improper. “This is your big day and I don’t want to ruin your fun.” He states cheerfully but manages to send shivers down Olberic’s back. “So just go running around somewhere, we will take care of you tonight.” He actually hears Erhardt choke on air as Sir Ingo blinks at them. “Joking aside, try looking for my partner, Sir Emmerich, and me if you need assistance. If you ignore the old man, we are the eldest members of the Kingsguard so it is kind of our duty to give you a helping hand if you are in need.” Looking around the great hall, Sir Ingo downs his whole glass of wine. “Now back to looking for a dance partner.”

He is gone as fast as he came and Olberic can feel himself sigh in relief. Erhardt stops holding his glass so roughly to ground himself and relaxes his shoulders considerably. After a short pause they look at each other and walk in silent agreement to a quieter corner of the hall, far away from most chatting groups or dancing couples.

Neither of them are used to these kind of social gatherings, so maybe staying at a quiet spot, where they can actually talk without the need to raise their voices, while keeping a close eye on the people at the event is for the best. They watch from afar as Sir Ingo leads every single female in the royal family onto the dance floor, regardless of age or position. At first, he can’t help but find it worrisome. However, as he spins his own cousin or her tiny six year old granddaughter, Olberic realizes that maybe all of this is a game he enjoys playing. Despite his trickster aura, he said they could count on him; so Olberic decides to give him a chance and trust him.

They wander aimlessly until Olberic realizes Erhardt has been discreetly peeking at some food for a while. “First our commander nearly yells at us and then…this. I’m not sure if I feel ready to meet the rest of our new brothers in arms yet.” He sighs, hopeless. Fully aware now that Olberic knows where his current attention lies, he stops next to some lemon cakes, in doubt.

As Erhardt weighs his options, Olberic spots something better just a few steps forward and he reaches for the small piece. “Try this one.”

Erhardt gives him a wary glance and then looks around them, just to assure no one is currently watching them. Then he leans in, instead of taking the piece of cake, and takes a small bite as Olberic holds it for him. He is going to ask him for his opinion when he hears a quiet mumble across the room. Erhardt must have heard it too because they both suddenly pull away at the same time, putting the reasonable distance between them back in place.

However, as they look across the hall, they find out it was not their fault. Once again, their infamous senior has pushed, albeit with princess Lissete’s help, another man to dance with him. His new partner, a man sporting black Kingsguard armor, doesn’t look annoyed even if for a second. As they dance among the other couples, Olberic can tell they move around each other with an easiness that only comes from familiarity. Though Sir Ingo has been equally enthusiastic about all of his dance partners, Olberic could swear he isn’t only putting on a show, contrary to popular belief.

It is difficult to keep an eye on them with all the other couples flocking close to them as they dance and maybe that is for the best. He doubts he could say anything in his defense were he to be caught staring. Deep down, Olberic may or may not feel a slight twinge of jealousy. Though he fears he may be getting the wrong impression, Sir Ingo and his partner seem so confident and at ease as they dance. Sir Ingo looks as merry as one can be when his partner spins him and eager as he takes the weaver role after a sharp change in tempo. It has been years since the last time he felt he could be that close to Erhardt in public without coming up with an excuse or an intricate plan that would allow them to do so. Every time he tries to, he feels anxious, just like right now.

Yet part of said anxiousness leaves him for good as their seniors move around each other lightly. Somehow, it almost reminds him of a duel. Maybe that’s why he can find all of those little gestures in the way the spin and move. Olberic wonders if they would notice so easily too, were Erhardt and him to dance. He shakes away that thought quickly before it gets the best of him.

“Olberic, your hand will get all sticky if you don’t eat that soon.” Erhardt says without tearing his eyes away from them either, However, he can picture his face just by judging the sound of his voice right now. It is gone in a few bites. “How did you know?”

Olberic doesn’t even need to ask what Erhardt means by that, the taste of peaches still sweet over his mouth. “Lucky guess?” He states without eloquence and that makes Erhardt snort shortly by his side.

He appreciates being able to just stand by Erhardt without the need to say a word. Olberic can tell that both of them are feeling anxious, yet the short silence, helps them to put their minds at ease. Olberic tries to put his thoughts in order now that he can, that high from the promotion seems somewhat further away than it had been before. Right now, standing next to his partner in a hall full of strangers and people he only ever read about, Olberic feels small, unimportant. Though some might have encouraged them to accept their new duties with renewed eagerness and excitement, Olberic is aware that they stand at a much more dangerous position than they have ever had. He isn’t naive, he knows that for every person that is pleased by their success, many others stand against it.

However, he doesn’t have much time to worry about such matters now. The music comes to an end and, before the next tune begins, Olberic spots out of the corner of his eye their senior brothers in arms bowing at one another. Soon, Sir Ingo is scanning the room for something, for someone. Until he finds them and he waves at them vigorously. Olberic can only stare with dread as Sir Emmerich gestures at them to flee as soon as Sir Ingo turns his back to him. But he is already approaching them and Olberic can’t move. He is frozen there, unable to run to safety. He turns around and realizes Erhardt is gone, nowhere to be found. Looks like he is on his own now.

Sir Ingo is all over him immediately. He is beaming, smiling slyly as he reaches for his wrists. “Come dance with me, my friend. You are young, enjoy your youth.” He raises Olberic’s hands and his own slide from his wrists to his fingers.

Slowly, carefully, Sir Ingo pulls Olberic onto the dance floor even if his hold on Olberic is light. Strangely, Olberic feels like he could free himself easily and Sir Ingo is giving him that option consciously. However, even if Olberic dislikes being the center of attention, he lets the older man lead him and mold his fingers gently so Olberic can spin him more comfortably. Sir Ingo mutters something under his breath, as if he is counting along the rhythm to get used to it. Then he takes a step back, dragging his feet graciously, and, though Olberic wouldn’t consider himself a great dancer, he takes a step forward out of instinct, trying to keep up with his game.

Olberic is still anxious and he is rather harsher than he is used to. This partner doesn’t seem to mind though, he keeps counting without making a single noise and Olberic feels himself relax as he falls into the repetitive rhythm. Sir Ingo is smiling slyly when he finally looks up to him.

“And here I thought you were just like a blushing maiden.” He whispers quietly enough to avoid being heard - to Olberic’s relief.

He nearly stops in his tracks in shock. “I beg your pardon?”

“Oh, you’ve heard me right.” He spins himself slowly, always to the tune. “May it be because you are one, Sir?” He pretends to be surprised.

Sir Ingo is a man of playing games, Olberic realized the first time he saw him, not so long ago. Disrespectful and mocking, trying to get on anyone’s nerves just for his entertainment. However, Olberic can’t help but fear this is some kind of undercover test, yet another trial. “Please, your lordship, quit joking.”

Always calm and cunning, Sir Ingo actually leads him despite being the spinner. “Am I pestering you?” He takes a few steps forward and Olberic has to back away. “Ah, please, forgive me. Fear me not, I just enjoy being an utter nuisance.” He laughs quietly.

“That…isn’t a good personality trait, Sir.” Olberic mumbles, still looking around anxiously.

Surprisingly, or maybe not so much, Sir Ingo blinks a couple of times and laughs, smile beaming and undeniably pleased. “But isn’t it entertaining!”

Strangely, Olberic feels himself relax at those words and chuckles. So he tries to enjoy himself for the last phrases of the song as it comes to an end. Sir Ingo bows at him with a graceful flourish and Olberic reciprocates awkwardly, discreetly. Sir Ingo is already reaching for his hands to pull him yet once again to another dance as Olberic hears heavy steps heading their way.

Olberic doesn’t need to look up to know it is not Erhardt. Erhardt’s footsteps are always quiet and soft, even when he is running through the battlefield or dancing with his blade. Once Olberic looks up, he realizes it is indeed the man he saw dancing earlier with Sir Ingo: Sir Emmerich, he presumes. Not as tall as himself but wide in the chest and strong built, Sir Emmerich must be twice his age judging by his greying hair and his crow’s feet, just like his partner. However, where Sir Ingo’s hair is dark and his features sharp, his hair is a lighter brown and his well-kept beard makes him look gentle, almost fatherly.

“My friend,” He reaches for Sir Ingo’s shoulder and he turns around to look right at him. “Her Majesty demands your presence with urgency.” Though he is doing nothing more than informing of an order, Olberic notices how his hand lingers on Sir Ingo’s shoulder, fingers almost grasping for his shoulder pad as he pulls his hand off it.

Most of that cunning Olberic saw barely a minute ago is gone and he looks softer as he takes a step forward. “Does my Queen want me to dance with Her Majesty again?”

“I know not. Why don’t you ask her yourself, Sir?” Though his wording seems perfectly normal to an outsider, Olberic could swear he feels like it is meant to be some kind of slight tease.

“I shall be gone then.” He sighs tiredly and nods at Olberic once more. “Sir Olberic, it was truly a pleasure to dance with you. I’ve heard many good things about you until now and I wish to hear even more of them in the near future. Now, if you excuse me.” He gently grasps Sir Emmerich’s upper arm for less than a second as he walks to the main table without looking back.

Now that Olberic can take a closer look at the knight standing close to him, he realizes his black armor is worn and the once bright and probably stark color has gone dull over the years. Right now, it looks almost grey. Sir Emmerich has served the crown for many years. Maybe, once Olberic finally comes to match him, his own armor would have long lost its brightness too.

Right now, as the older knight gazes his way kindly, he feels too young, inexperienced. “Please, don’t mind Sir Ingo, he is just trying to entertain you.” He sighs tiredly and closes his eyes. “If you are looking for your partner, you will find him on the second balcony of the corridor. You can reach the main hall pretty quickly from there, yet it is a quiet place.”

“Shouldn’t we remain in the hall just in case we are needed?” Olberic feels uneasy about neglecting his duties no less than a few hours after their promotion.

However, Sir Emmerich shakes his head. “We will introduce you to your new duties morrow morning. Now do as you please. If it brings you ease, I swear I will look for both of you shall you be needed.” He offers quietly.

Olberic sighs in relief and nods. “Thank you, Sir. Please, enjoy yourself.”

He is already almost turning away when he hears him muttering: “Same goes for you.” Then his footsteps disappear among the couples.

Even on his own, Olberic can easily spot the corridor Sir Emmerich mentioned. He navigates through the crowd as best as he can. Finally alone at the gate of the corridor, Olberic takes a few seconds to take a deep breath and straighten his clothes before finally stepping in. Just as Sir Emmerich said, the second balcony is mostly hidden despite being in such a busy hallway.

Leaning on the carved stone railing, Erhardt is looking at the city lights below them, his back facing Olberic. He is aware of his presence there though. Olberic steps onto the balcony and closes the door after him. They can listen to the muted music playing from the main hall through the other balconies and windows and the corridor at their back.

Olberic is staring at Erhardt as he speaks. “A little bird told me I would find you here.”

Then Erhardt turns around slowly. In front of the city lighting and facing the dim lights of the hallway, Olberic can’t help but stare at him. “I think the same bird told me he will find you for me.”

Despite being all clad in red, Erhardt is not red. No. Right now he shines golden. From his shoulder pads, to his sword’s hilt, to his vambraces and to his hair. Even his eyelashes shine as he stares back at Olberic through half lidded eyes in a hungry gaze. Olberic has spotted gold even in his eyes over the years, so often aflame and dangerous just like now. Eyes fixed on him, Erhardt takes a step forward.

“I’ve been told this place is quite…private.”

“Do you trust Sir Emmerich?” Though he looks like a kind man, Olberic doesn’t want to get them in trouble.

Erhardt seems to consider it for a while, hand on his chin. “I’m unsure.” He frowns slightly. “He knows his way around here and he looks trustworthy.” He says quietly. “We either go back to the hall now or,” And he looks up at Olberic, just as eager as when he first arrived. “we decide to trust him and take a risk.”

With such wording, Olberic feels like there would be little to no doubt on his part. To Erhardt’s amusement, he takes a step forwards. “I’ve already made my choice.”

“Good.” Even if only for a second, his gaze goes softer and Erhardt pulls a strand of hair behind his ear. “That day, on the eastern keep, I remember staring down to the enemy lines from the crenel. Even from afar, I would have sworn it was you leading the counter-siege.” Olberic can tell Erhardt is up to something. What it is, is unknown to him but he is sure it won’t take him long. Both of them know that if Erhardt hadn’t arrived with his men as reinforcements before the enemy besieged them, Olberic’s assault would have proved useless. “Every man in Talrot Keep wanted to kiss you that night.” Erhardt’s every movement is perfectly calculated as he looks back at Olberic through his eyelashes, clearly trying to make his intentions evident.

Though Olberic’s throat feels dry, he takes yet another step further. “Then do.”

That is everything Erhardt needs to hear. Soon he is grasping Olberic tightly by his clothes, pulling him even closer as he tries to tip toe and bring Olberic down to his eye level. He obliges and leans down enough for Erhardt to kiss him roughly. He keeps his eyes open and his brow furrowed as he stares at Olberic intensely. Maybe, a wiser man would feel the need to back away at such a hungry look but right now Olberic doesn’t feel wise at all. So he instead takes Erhardt’s face gently between his hands, thumbs caressing barely below his eyes as they kiss.

Holding onto Olberic’s clothes for dear life, Erhardt kisses him desperately. He bites down on his lower lip and sucks into it, even though it is still caught between his teeth. Olberic sighs in pleasurable and familiar pain into his mouth and Erhardt licks the abused sensitive skin with his tongue before going back to biting. Erhardt is not gentle, he is demanding and he enjoys hurting him as long as he will let him. Olberic knows so well enough. He knows when his bites turn bright red and then purple only to fade as they sting over days. Then he remembers.

Olberic manages to pull back just enough for him to talk. “Stop.” Their lips brush together as he speaks and it takes most of his self control to actually say so. Erhardt hums and complains yet he takes a step back to look at Olberic with a pout, clearly unhappy about the interruption. “We will have to get back in later, so,” He licks his lips, hoping it doesn’t look obvious. “can you be more careful?”

Erhardt opens his eyes wide and begins asking for forgiveness between rushed apologies and swear words at his own carelessness. He is so anxious he doesn’t realize Olberic has taken a step forwards until he is picking him up easily. Still in shock, Erhardt remains quiet as Olberic carries him to the stone railing and sits him there. Now, comfortably on the same level, Olberic leans both of his hands on the railing. From there he can see Erhardt gulping, his eyes blown wide and he licks his lips. Olberic feels a soft tap on his hip and he looks down only to see Erhardt slowly parting his legs, making more room for him to lean closer. Olberic feels his face burning and the blush creeps all his way through his ears, neck and even reaching his chest. Suddenly, he is speechless and can only stare as Erhardt shifts.

“Now,” Erhardt’s hands tremble slightly, not as confident as he pretends to be, as he tenderly lifts Olberic’s chin. “where were we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M FUCKING BACK AND ALIVE FROM MY FINALS AND I'M SO SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG  
> These last weeks have been pretty stressing for me so I couldn't get any work done but now I'm back from my haitus and I must thank my amazing beta WinterShiny for helping me keeping up with my shit and all of you for checking out this story regardless of just disappearing.
> 
> It's been nearly a month since the last time I updated and, though I want to get back to my former writing rhythm, I'm not sure if I'll be able to do it soon. I'll try my best though.
> 
> Oops... Looks like I got super attached to these OCs way to quickly, since I've been writing this for nearly three weeks between my exams... Tell me if you are interesting in reading some Ingo/Emmerich oneshot in the future. Also, you already know where to find me on tumblr if you want to discuss any ideas or issues.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter and thank you for checking out my work!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my great beta, @wintershiny at tumblr, for her great work.


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